The Roles We Play
by Clockwork Mockingbird
Summary: In which Mr. and Mrs. Gold try to live out their lives as normally as possible, fail miserably, and wind up taking entirely too many trips to the hospital while Emma shakes up Storybrooke. Sequel to By Any Other Name. Rumbelle
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** SEQUEL SEQUEL SEQUEL SEQUEL SEQUEL.

I TOLD YOU THIS UNIVERSE WASN'T FINISHED YET! I have to name this universe now, huh? Crud. I'm no good with names. How about... Uh... How about I get back to you on that? Okay? Okay.

* * *

"I've a new deal to make with you, sweetheart."

Belle turned her head towards her husband, but kept her eyes trained on the page of the book in her hands. "Oh?" she asked, still skimming the printed words before her.

Rumplestiltskin took a moment to take her in, letting the image of her sprawled on the couch in a sundress, devouring a book like she'd never get to read it again burn into his memory. The years hadn't changed her. She was still a bright and curious (and the most beautiful) woman, the town librarian, married to the pawn shop owner (the town said for five years, but in truth it had been ten).

Storybrooke knew her as Isabelle Gold. Izzy to her friends, but always Belle to him. Rumplestiltskin counted himself lucky that her Storybrooke identity allowed him to use her real name; calling her anything other than Belle felt like a lie. Belle was not so fortunate- Richard sounded nothing like Rumple- but after ten years he didn't need to worry about his true name spilling out in public. She was so smart, his beautiful wife, and managed to keep the secret well. Richard was for public, Rumplestiltskin was theirs and theirs alone.

He was her husband, her imp, playful- and a bit childish at times, if one were to be completely honest- and easily able to snatch a book out of dainty hands when it became obvious that his dear wife was not paying him any attention whatsoever.

"I was reading that," she protested, diving for him.

"Deal first, reading later," Rumplestiltskin offered, backing towards the window.

"One more chapter, then deal," Belle countered.

"Oh, but you'll want to hear this now." He held up one finger to stop her, putting it to his lips to silence her question.

His timing was perfect, as he knew it would be. Just as Belle began to raise her brow, the sound started and she stilled. In the distance- far enough that she had to strain to hear it, but near enough that she could hear it if she listened- the clock tower had begun to chime.

Shock flooded Belle's face, eyes wide with hope and disbelief. Her mind was a wonderful thing, and she knew in an instant what the distant tolling of bells meant.

"She's here."

"She is," he confirmed, marking her place on the pages and setting the book down. "I met her. Blonde curls, Mary Margaret's chin, and Charming's courage."

The Savior had arrived, and brought time with her, the clock chiming nine times, merrily informing everyone of the hour. The clocks in the house began to chime as well, nine o'clock firmly being announced.

Finally, Emma was here.

They were one step closer to breaking the curse. One step closer to Bae.

Belle stepped into his open arms, laughing when he collapsed backwards into the armchair, pulling her down into his lap. He burrowed his face in her shoulder, unsure if he should laugh or cry or both. After years of waiting and wondering, watching Henry grow up under Regina's care, finally- _finally_- Emma, the Savior, their only hope, was here.

His wife threaded her fingers through her hair, kissing his forehead when he didn't look at her.

"What's the deal then?" she asked, kissing down his nose.

Rumplestiltskin winced, reminding himself exactly why this deal (and it was a deal for him, but a husband's promise for her) needed to be made. "Time is moving now," he told her, tracing her hipbone with his thumb. "The town remembers us as Mr. and Mrs. Gold, and we will have to act as such." She kissed him on the mouth, quickly, lips gone before he truly felt them.

"Shouldn't be a problem. We've had ten years of practice." She paused. "Well, five years for them. They think I'm twenty-nine, don't they?"

"They think a great deal of things, love. And they will have to keep thinking them for this to work."

Emma was to break the curse, not them. If the Golds suddenly began acting different, people would notice (because they were still odd to the town, still watched whenever they went out), and people weren't supposed to notice, not until Emma was through with them.

Mrs. Gold would be alright, because Isabelle and Belle weren't very different in the end. At least, not once she'd come to work in the shop. Isabelle had, at first, been painfully shy, the quiet bookworm in school, dating the first guy who'd asked her out, taking care of her father, never going out unless forced. She'd been content, but restless, not Belle at all until she'd left Grayson/Gaston (who was, regrettably, not a flower) and marched into his life (back into his heart, where she belonged and would stay).

And what a life it had been.

Married, happily, to, of all people, Belle. True Love finally his to hold and kiss and claim. Rumplestiltskin did not have many things to be grateful for, but the curse had proven to be a new opportunity for many people, including him. Though Ashley and Sean weren't together, they were both around (and really, he actually had nothing to do with Thomas's disappearance, the magic they'd used did that- why did no one _listen_ to him?) and could wind up back where they belonged soon enough (he would have to make sure Emma saw to that).

Charming should have, by all accounts, died from his injuries, but the medicine in this world was a blessing all its own, and the solider lived to fight another day. Unconscious still, but breathing at least, watched over daily by his wife (who naturally had no idea she was his wife, because that would just be too easy), who went to see him every day.

Rumplestiltskin would have liked to take credit for all these small blessings, but it had happened how it happened. He had tossed the chips, but they had fallen where they'd liked (though he could be persuaded to bring that up, once the curse was broken and the town remembered the monster he'd used to be).

"Sweetheart, I'm not remembered as a nice man."

Belle sat back, the playfulness slipping from her face. "Oh. No, I suppose you're not, are you?"

"I have debts to collect, enemies to annoy, people's hopes to trample on." He shifted Belle so that she was sitting on his good thigh, her head cradled comfortably on his shoulder. "Mr. Gold is a pre-written role, and I'll have to play it perfectly." Otherwise Regina...

Well, Regina would _definitely_ notice a difference in him, and she would be the Regina of the Enchanted Forest again, the Evil Queen to snatch happiness away. His happiness.

He could handle Her Majesty even without magic. Mr. Gold had a history of a silver tongue and a quite imitating glare. He and the mayor had butted heads on several occasions, and even when he'd backed down he'd somehow managed to get what he'd wanted.

But Mr. Gold also had a wife. And his wife- as strong and perfect as she was- was _not_ to be alone with Regina. Not after last time.

"So you're going to be the bastard everyone thinks you are?" Belle asked in a small voice, her mind whirring, the gears and cogs clicking and working to catch up with his. Her hands were toying with the buttons on his waistcoat, undoing them slowly. She'd already unraveled his tie, letting the silk dangle on either side of his collar.

"Perhaps not quite as bastardly as they remember, but yes. I will be a bastard." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "But I promise you, no matter what I do, I will only do to aid Emma, and I will always tell you beforehand."

Nimble fingers slid into his now gaping collar, pulling the material over to expose his skin, her nails tapping lightly against his chest to match his heartbeat. She seemed... not unhappy. Resigned, because she knew (had thought long and hard about) what would happen once time came to Storybrooke. "And if you break this promise?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled into her hair. "You're my wife. I'm sure you'll think of some way to punish me."

"You'll sleep in the guest room," she said immediately. "The one with the window stuck open, and without me."

"Done."

"And."

"And? What and?" He trailed his hand up her backbone, tugging gently on a curled lock of hair, his voice deliberately high. "There is no _and_ in this, my dear."

"_And_," she said with a slight glare (and a smile she tried to hide but he saw anyway), "you'll get up with me in the mornings."

His hand covered hers over his heart, mouth open in exaggerated hurt. "Now that's just cruel." But he smiled, hand closing to grasp hers, and bent to steal a kiss. "The deal is struck."

They stayed curled against each other until the throbbing of his leg couldn't be ignored. She helped him stand, turning to glance at the now moving hands of the clock in the town square. Time was in play again, and things were going to be different, but first they must be the same. First Rumplestiltskin had to be Mr. Gold. He had to help Emma, guide her until she was ready to believe in curses and curse breakers.

If Regina knew he remembered, she would, easily and often, get in the way of that.

And Regina, oh, he would have to pretend to help her, let the Mayor think he was a neutral party in all this, otherwise she'd strike out against them both. Emma needed someone to guide her, someone who was not a ten year old boy. She might not appreciate the guidance Rumplestiltskin- Mr. Gold- would give her, but perhaps, this time, the end would justify the means?

Belle had his promise, and his promises to her were like his deals: iron clad and not something he ever broke. He had changed, her husband. He was not the Dark One of legend. His book was still being written, but that particular chapter had been bled onto the pages, lived and read, and now it was done. He had no wish, no desire, to go back.

Rumplestiltskin was just a man who knew what needed to be done, and so he would do it, and then be done with it. He wouldn't drag it out, prolong the suffering. He didn't enjoy manipulating people. He hadn't for a long time. (He wished, how he wished, he could promise he wouldn't trick anyone, but the words were lies and so would not pass his lips.)

Whatever he was going to do, he would do for his son. Above all else, Rumplestiltskin was a father, and he would stop at nothing to find Baelfire.

He would find his son.

And this time, he would not lose Belle. Not to lying queens or his own foolishness, no. Belle was going to be where she belonged- wherever she decided she wanted to be. If that was by his side or following behind him- or even watching from afar and then dragging him off to make him human again- then so be it. She was her own person, and he would not force her into anything (and really, he couldn't if he tried. His wife was a force to be reckoned with).

"Can you promise me no one will get hurt?" she asked, hating that she already knew the answer, hating even more that she still asked, wanted him to make that promise even though she knew if he did it would be broken.

Rumplestiltskin was quiet for a beat too long, and she nodded once. This... this felt like a war. There were going to be losses and wounds on both sides, because war was bloody (and she knew too much about war, too much about loss, to pretend otherwise).

"I can't promise I won't hurt anyone," he said quietly, drawing her gaze back to him. "I'm not strong enough to promise that." But he was stronger now, ten years with Belle proving to be the best balm for his cowardice, the best sword against his evil. It was still there, but it was distant, quiet. The fear did not simmer, the evil did not control him. He was a different man (and he _was_ a man) now, not quite soft, but not fully armored either.

Richard was a delicate balance of it all, Rumplestiltskin's memories and wit, and Mr. Gold's mind and control. Belle tipped the scales so they fell in his favor, and he was more himself than he'd ever been.

He dreaded to think what he could have become had Belle been absent from Richard's life like she'd been absent (pushed away) from Rumplestiltskin's. It would have been easy, so, so easy, to fall into that darkness again, without her to pull him back. But she was here, with him, and she hadn't needed to pull him back in a long, long time.

"I can promise not to hurt anyone out of anger alone. I'm a flawed man, Belle, and I _will_ want to hurt those who get in my way... but I can promise to try and hold myself back." He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. "Nothing I do will be for naught. There will be a method to my madness, I assure you."

Belle kissed him then, long and slow. (He promised to _try_. To hold himself back. To not give in to his darkness.) "There always is," she murmured. "Come on then, Rumple. To bed. We have a big day tomorrow."

"Do we?"

"Oh yes. People to see, things to do, curses to break, books to read."

Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs, trying not to marvel at the beauty that called herself his wife. "I'm surprised you haven't read all of the books in town by now," he admitted, pulling his tie from around his neck. Belle was a fast reader- two books per day was nothing to her. Twenty-eight years of being stuck in the same town with the same books to read, he was surprised she wasn't foaming at the mouth, trying to find something new, scouring the internet for a website that would deliver to a town that didn't exist (yet).

"I've read the majority of the books in the library, but not all of them." Belle informed him, heading to her dresser to rummage through the drawers. "I'll run out soon enough," she said, pulling her nightgown over her head. "When I do, I'm sure I'll find more somewhere."

She heard him chuckle. "Of that," he said dryly, amused and amazed at her, "I have no doubt."

* * *

They stuck to their routine because everything was different, but _they_ couldn't be, not yet. While the clocks chimed and did their jobs, people woke up all over town, choosing different outfits, taking different paths to work, and they welcomed the morning as they always did.

Once Rumplestiltskin was awake (snooze buttons were his weakness, even more so now that the alarm clock actually worked correctly. "I'm a creature of the _night_," he liked to complain. "Let me be.") they ate breakfast and drove to the shop together. The library opened at eight, the shop at nine, but they liked to have a few extra minutes together before parting ways for the day.

Belle, as usual, stopped by the diner to see Ruby and Granny ...and maybe to satisfy her curiosity by catching a glimpse of blonde curls in a table by the window. She made herself face Ruby and not look too much, stealing glances out of the corner of her eye.

"Incoming, tea at twelve o'clock!" Ruby announced, plopping the to-go cup in front of Belle. She made a face, her scarlet lips twisting to reveal pearly white teeth. "I still don't see how you can drink that stuff. It's for old people."

"I guess I'm old then," Belle laughed, taking a large sip.

"You so are not. You're only like, what, five years older than me?"

They were the same age, but only Belle knew that, and she let Izzy slip through (and she would have to do that more and more as time marched forward) and teased her best friend.

"That means you only have five years before we put you in a home. Tell me, do you need diapers yet? Should I get you a walker?"

Ruby smacked her arm, making a show of rolling her eyes. "Shut up. And for the record, if there aren't hot male nurses in my home, I _will_ haunt you when I die." Seeing her grandmother making her way over to them, Ruby picked up a rag and started wiping the already clean counter. "Drink your tea and scoot, or I'll sic the new lady on you."

Belle was quite proud of the way she managed to tilt her head, let her forehead crinkle in confusion. "New lady? Did you hire someone else?" A thought occurred to her, and Belle sat her tea down. Time was moving now, after all. Changes were bound to be coming, and with change and time came new things. "Ashley's not in labor is she?"

"No, not yet, though she's _got_ to be close. Poor girl is huge and a hormonal mess."

Belle bit her lip, knowing not to hope, but doing so anyway. "Sean?" she asked quietly.

Ruby shook her head. "Nothing," she growled. "Jerk won't even call her or anything."

New knowledge filtered to the front of Belle's mind, her heart pounding and sore for the poor princess who hadn't had anywhere, or anyone, else to go to in this world. "Does she still want to go through with-" (The deal with Rumplestiltskin) "-the contract with Richard?"

Ruby's hands faltered for only a second, the sore spot between her two friends picked at. Ashley had gone to Gold, but the deal felt slimly even though they all knew the baby would be taken care of. Belle had been careful to let Ashley know in advance when she was going to be around, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but Ashley was still nervous and edgy around the other woman, and tended to avoid her altogether.

The part of her that was Izzy mourned. Ashley had been her friend once.

"She hasn't said anything to me," Ruby admitted, not looking at Belle.

"But?" Belle prompted.

Ruby glanced around, making sure Ashley wasn't near. "But I... I think she might change her mind."

Belle had to bite her cheek to stop her smile. "It's her choice. She knows that. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said, neither promising or confirming anything (and she had definitely been spending too much time with Rumple if she was starting to think like him). "So who is this new lady then?"

Eyes sparkling with the chance for gossip, and eager to change the subject, Ruby leaned in to whisper. "Emma Swan," she said, nodding to the woman in the corner. "She's the Mayor's son's real mom. The kid ran away to meet her and she drove him back last night. I guess she decided to stay."

Now that she had an excuse to stare, Belle turned to look at the woman who was supposed to save them all (who didn't know what kind of town she'd stumbled into, who knew nothing she was supposed to know).

She looked like Charming, with her serious air and broad forehead, but that definitely was Snow's chin and most certainly her nose. She had a leather jacket draped over her chair, painted nails, and an attitude that was not from their world. Yet, when Belle focused, she could feel the faint stirrings of... _something_... coming from her. It felt, almost, like when Rumplestiltskin had used magic on her, back in the Dark Castle. The same faint flicker of power, not enough to overwhelm, but enough to notice.

"She's sticking around to keep an eye on the kid. The Mayor is not happy about it," Ruby confided, her grin wide. "Ten bucks says lies start spreading about Emma before tomorrow, once Madame Mayor gets them in order."

"Life certainly will get interesting if she decides to stay, that much is for sure." Belle fished a few dollars out of her purse, slid them across to Ruby. "As much as I love it, your gossip has made me late."

"You _own_ the library. You can open it whenever you want," Ruby complained. "Stay, please? I swear I hardly see you anymore."

"You see me every morning!"

Ruby scoffed. "Yeah, for like five minutes." She leaned across the counter, her shirt slipping dangerously low, attracting the view of the male customers. "Let's do something this weekend. You, me, and Mary Margaret. We'll go out, act nuts like we used to. What do you say?"

Belle smiled, remembering what they used to do- and why they _used_ to do it- with a shake of her head. "I'm going to regret this. Okay, but only if we're staying away from alcohol," she added quickly, heading for the door. She gave Emma a smile, got a nod in return.

"Where's the fun in that?" came Ruby's whine. "You're much funnier when you're drunk!"

"_Goodbye_, Ruby."

* * *

Belle hummed happily as she stocked the books, helped the younger children find what they were looking for. Henry came in briefly, asking if she had any books on fairytales and, knowing what kind of fairytales he was after, Belle had to send him away empty handed.

_Emma has to do this_, she thought. _Not me, not Rumple, Emma._

She closed early, using the extra time to gather the books that held grains of truth from their world and lock them away behind the counter. Too much information at once could send Emma running, and that was the last thing they needed. It all needed to be broken to her gently. Henry had told her about the curse, and she was staying. Now she had to find out for herself, and believe.

The curse _would_ be broken. That was certain, written in stone by her husband's hand. In the end, everything would work out as it should, and they would be free to do whatever they wanted after it was all said and done. But until then she had to be patient, and let Henry and Rumplestiltskin guide Emma to where she needed to be.

Belle would have to wait.

Patience is a virtue, after all.

Belle snatched her keys off the desk and made her way to Granny's, marching inside after spotting a yellow bug parked outside that definitely had not been there any day before. She supposed she should have gone straight to the shop, or even walked home to start dinner, but instead she seated herself at the counter, chatting with Ruby and watching the Savior watch Henry out the window.

She'd never considered herself particularly virtuous.


	2. Chapter 2

He was aware of something beeping. It was a steady beep, quiet, but too loud and annoying to ignore. When he focused, he became aware of other things, other sensations and sounds. Quiet footsteps, hushed voices, and a steady murmuring that almost lulled him back into darkness.

Everything was murky, comprehension dancing out of reach. Something wasn't right, but he didn't know what it was. He felt pressure, on his hand and head. Something pricked his arm whenever he tried to move it, a steady, numb pressure and slight bite of pain that made him lie still. Everything was heavy, his head, his limbs, his eyelids.

The beeping was a heart monitor.

Rumplestiltskin forced his eyes open at the realization, hissing and snapping them shut again when darkness gave way to sudden, blinding light.

"Richard?"

The murmur was Belle, her voice soft and shaky. He turned his head towards the sound, latching onto the musical accent to keep himself awake. He risked a glance, barely opening his eyes lest the light hurt him again.

Speaking of hurt, his head was starting to throb, his left temple numb at the center, but pain pulsating outwards, rippling throughout his skull. It hurt to think, but Belle was beside him, and so he needed to focus.

"Belle," he said, hearing his own voice through a distant fog. He sounded weak and old, and swallowed to try again. "Belle."

Her eyes were rimmed red. She'd been crying.

"Oh thank god," she whispered, fresh tears brimming. Why was she crying?

He couldn't lift his arm to wipe the tears, settled for giving her hand the smallest squeeze. His fingers wouldn't cooperate- he felt like a small child trying to grip something too large and heavy. Her hand trembled in his when she squeezed back, bringing his limp fingers to her mouth, briefly kissing his knuckles.

"Are you in pain?" she asked

Ah, yes. Pain. Now that he was becoming more aware, Rumplestiltskin was acutely aware of the throbbing in his head. It actually hurt to open his left eye more than halfway, but he opened it anyways, wanting to look at Belle fully. The numb pain in his arm proved to be a needle hooked to an I.V., which he glared at, annoyed at the modern medicine being pumped into his blood, slowing his thoughts and making his limbs limp and clumsy. Everything was a bit fuzzy at the edges, but he could make out Belle perfectly against the white walls.

"No pain," he managed, a small lie, but he'd forgive himself this once, his tongue thick and clumsy. "What..." He swallowed, mouth dry, throat burning.

"What happened?" Belle shook her head, squeezing his hand almost painfully. "I don't know. You were late for dinner, so I went to the shop and you were on the floor." He could feel her fingers brushing the hair from his forehead and closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation as it soothed the throbbing away. "I called an ambulance when you didn't wake up. I couldn't... You hit your head. There was blood."

They were in the hospital then, with heart monitors and white walls. Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes to stare at her.

After all these years, Belle was still terrified of the place that had held her captive. She hadn't gone near it since she'd gotten out, but she'd not only called an ambulance to take him in, she'd gone with him, and sat beside him until he woke. Brave Belle, facing her fears while she trembled with new ones.

"...hospital?" he questioned, hoping she'd understand. "With me?" Coherency fought him, and it was all he could do to get those simple words out.

"I wasn't about to leave you alone in here," she said.

"Stubborn."

"Pot to kettle," she retorted, half standing to kiss his forehead. "Whale said to page someone when you were awake."

Rumplestiltskin winced when her kiss landed too close to his wound. It didn't hurt if he didn't think about it, but it was tender and sore. He managed to raise his hand to gingerly feel the ache. Gauze and tape met his fingers, and he sighed. He'd hit his head, been taken to the hospital, and scared the wits out of his wife all in one night. Wonderful.

"Ashley," he coughed. "Contract." Pepper spray, he remembered. The burning of his throat and nose made more sense now. Belle glanced at him, eyes wide and confused. "Wanted out."

"Ashley did this?" she whispered.

Nodding was a bad idea, not that he realized it until it was too late. He clutched his swimming head. "She wants..." The light warped in front of him, Belle cast in shadow despite the brightly lit room. Ah, there was the medicine, kicking in to make the world all wrong.

"She wants her baby."

"Mmm," Rumplestiltskin muttered. "Maced me."

Something cool pressed against his lips. "Drink," Belle crooned. "It'll help."

The water soothed his throat, letting him speak with a smoother voice. "What did they give me?"

Belle wrinkled her brow, glancing up at the bag attached to him. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Do you need more?"

"Too much," he muttered, reaching blindly for her. "Everything's... off." His hand fluttered, grasping for the right words. "Fuzzy."

But her lips against his felt right, the only thing right in the world, and his eyes slipped closed again.

"Rest."

"Belle." _Go home_, he wanted to tell her, but his voice left him, abandoning him with his thoughts. She would be afraid, left alone with him in the hospital. _Go home_, he tried to tell her, feeling the cool brush of tears on her cheeks.

"Shh," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

She should, but he knew she wouldn't, and he fought the sleep pulling at him, tightening his grip on her hand. But he was a weak man, hurt and mortal, and Rumplestiltskin slept.

* * *

Izzy didn't come for her morning tea, or to chat, or for lunch. She didn't call or text to cancel or explain, she just didn't show. Ruby was worried at first (because she always worried about Izzy now, especially went she up and disappeared randomly), but as the day moved on, she got annoyed, then sad, then frustrated. Gold's shop was closed, the library didn't even have a light on, and Ruby _knew_ Gold was looking for Ashley. And then Emma had gotten involved, and had wound up chasing Ashley and then being there for Alexandra's birth.

It had been a hell of a day.

But Sean had come around, and the baby was safe, so it hadn't been _so_ bad.

But Izzy was still not there, and Ruby was determined to see her friend. Was she mad that the deal was broken? That couldn't be it.

Could it?

Yeah, Ashley took off, but if Izzy _was_ mad at Ashley for that, then why avoid Ruby? Sure she was friends with the younger woman (and she was a woman now, a mom, and god that was weird), but Izzy was- had been long ago- her friend too. They'd all gotten into so much trouble together, Izzy frantically trying to fix things while Ruby and Ashley just laughed. Those were the days.

And really, Izzy had no right to be mad. Ashley just wanted to be a mother, wanted her baby. Sure, she broke a contract or whatever, but surely Izzy, of all people, could understand why.

Or maybe she couldn't.

Izzy was Gold's wife. They were odd, but cute and totally sweet- as hard as it was to believe, because Gold really was the best husband, no one could deny that, he was just an asshole to everyone else- and very loyal to each other. Maybe Izzy just didn't know how to feel? It made more sense than being angry, but it was no excuse to just avoid everyone. Especially not the best friend.

Ruby was getting angry, but tried to push it away on the drive to Izzy's place. Billy had towed her car back free of charge, but fixing the dent would cost. But everything ran just fine and really it didn't matter if her car looked a little ugly for a while. It worked and that's what counted.

Supposedly, Emma owed Gold a favor now. Ruby didn't want to think about what that favor might be. She'd probably get mad again, and she wanted to be calm when she talked to Izzy, even if Izzy _was_ mad (but that just wasn't Izzy, but what else could it be?). Shouting wouldn't fix anything, and if Ruby wound up getting pissed off, then shouting would definitely happen.

"Hey," she said when Izzy opened the door. She took a deep breath, intending to blurt out everything at once- she got it if Izzy was mad even though Izzy had no right to be and they were still friends, it was all cool- but she took a good look at her friend and stopped before she even started. "Have you been crying?"

Izzy glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip guiltily. Ruby followed her gaze and saw Gold asleep in an armchair, the profile giving her a good look at the raw red gash on his forehead.

"What the hell happened to him?" Ruby gasped. _That_ was new. When had that happened?

Izzy shut the door quietly. "He's alright now. The painkillers just make him tired," she said, not meeting Ruby's gaze. "No stitches, but it was enough to knock him out for a few hours. We spent the night in the hospital." And then Izzy was shaking, her hair falling to curtain her face, the very thought of that place filling her with terror.

Ruby was left staring open mouthed at her friend. Izzy had gone to the hospital? Willingly? It took an army to get her to go to the damn doctor's office when she got sick. As far as Ruby knew, Izzy hadn't so much as set foot in the hospital since... since everything had happened. She was _terrified_ of that place. She still had nightmares and panic attacks because of it.

"He says it doesn't hurt, but I know it does." Izzy sniffed, eyes darting everywhere to try and keep the tears away. "I found him knocked out... I couldn't get him to wake up." Her voice cracked and she pressed her lips together to hold in the sob.

"Oh my god," Ruby whispered. "What happened? Did he fall?"

Izzy was quiet, fidgeting with her shirt. (It wasn't her place to tell. Not even Emma had mentioned it, and Ruby would find out eventually, but she should hear it from Ashley, not her.) She glanced over her shoulder, unable to keep Ruby's gaze. "I... I should get back inside. I didn't sleep too well last night, and the medicine makes Richard a bit loopy. I've got to get him up to bed before it kicks in."

"Wait." Ruby grabbed her wrist before she could turn away, her grip firm and unyielding. "I wanted to talk to you about Ashley-"

Izzy's head snapped up. There was something flashing in her eyes, but instead of the anger Ruby was expecting, there was... hurt. And sorrow. And so much pain. Ruby blinked, startled, her grip on Izzy loosening. "Hey-"

"We're not..." Izzy choked on a sob and paused to swallow it. "There won't be any charges. Richard already spoke to Emma about it."

"That's good, but that's not why I'm here." Though she _had_ been worried that Gold might try and charge Ashley for stealing. There had been a contract, legal and binding, and Ashley had broken it by committing a crime. But Ruby knew Gold, and if he said the contract was forgotten, it would never be seen again. He was nothing if not a man of his word (but his words were slippery, weaving and bobbing and he was clever with them so people had to be careful when dealing with him).

"She was afraid," Izzy said suddenly, blinking back tears. "She was so scared, but she didn't come to me, she didn't ask for any help. She did what she thought best, and I understand that. But..."

"... but it hurts that your old friend couldn't come to you because of your husband."

Ashley and Izzy's friendship had crumbled due to the contract. Ashley had started to regret going to Gold not too long ago, but Izzy was married to him, and she couldn't say things like that in front of _Mrs._ Gold, and eventually she stopped saying anything at all to Izzy. Stopped talking to her, looking at her, made excuses when plans involved her.

Ruby had been caught in the middle, freezing up whenever she was out with Ashley and saw Izzy, or Ashley walked in while she and Izzy were in the diner. She felt like she wasn't allowed to be friends with both women.

Izzy had been understanding, had told Ashley to come to her if she needed anything, but Ashley had run instead.

Izzy was hurt because it had taken that for her to realize that they weren't friends anymore.

"I want to forgive her."

Ruby stepped back, exasperated, a little hurt that Izzy really was angry. "She wanted her baby, Izzy, you _know_ that."

"She left him," Izzy spat, suddenly angry. Fresh tears spilled, splashing onto her cheeks. "She left him alone, bleeding, on the floor. He was unconscious. He _wasn't moving_. And she _left him _there." She wiped the tears angrily, frustrated at the anger and hurt that anyone could do that to her husband. "I want to forgive her for that, but I can't yet, and I'm sorry... but I just- I can't. Not for that."

One by one, the pieces fell together, the picture forming, what hadn't been said coming to light. Ruby felt her breath freeze in her lungs, shock- and a little anger- working through her. Ashley was the reason Gold was hurt? She'd _attacked_ him? And then just left him, without even telling anyone, not even his wife, her old friend, that he was hurt?

Ashley, who had been Izzy's friend, who'd come to her wedding even though she didn't really approve, who'd giggled her way through school with them both, had not only robbed Gold, she'd purposely hurt him, and then left him behind so she could get away.

Ashley's choice had hurt more than just Gold. She'd hurt Richard (and sometimes they all forgot he was both, the landlord and a husband), and so she'd hurt Izzy.

"I understand why," Izzy said. "I really do. Parents do anything for their children, and I'm glad- truly glad- she's a mother. She just made a mistake." And then Izzy was sobbing, face pressed into her hands, shoulders shaking. "I want so badly to forgive her," she said, breathing hard to control the sobs. "But I can't, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ruby yanked her forward, circling her arms around her friend and holding her. Izzy sobbed into her shoulder, apologizing for being hurt and angry and afraid, apologizing for what she was feeling, but she was honest, and Ruby saw no reason why Izzy should be sorry for any of it.

"I get it. And if I were you, I'd be a mess too." She bent to look Izzy in the eye, something deep in her hurting. Ashley had been protecting her baby, but she'd hurt Ruby's- their- friend. "Ashley hurt your husband, the man you love more than anything. You can be emotional about that all you want. But don't ever apologize to me for what you feel, okay? Not ever."

Relief bloomed in Izzy's eyes and Ruby's heart clenched.

"You thought I'd be mad that you were hurt," she said, and it wasn't a question because she already knew the answer. "But I'm not. Yeah, Ashley was protecting her kid, but she went about it all wrong, and people got hurt. You're angry, but it's okay because you're angry for the right reasons."

She didn't think it was right, Ruby could see it, but the hurt was still there, and try and she might, Izzy couldn't make it go away.

"It's gonna be okay," Ruby said, giving her friend a hug. "It's all gonna be okay."

It had to be.

* * *

Belle was not happy. Even drugged and (though he wouldn't admit it out loud) in pain, Rumplestiltskin could see it.

"She was protecting her child," he said in the silence. "Not many people go to those lengths for anyone. She'll be a good mother."

Her hand was warm in his, their fingers the perfect width to lace together comfortably. "I know."

"Prince Thomas is back now, and Emma owes me a favor." That would come in handy, later. He didn't know when or how, but the Savior owing him... that was something he would need later on, he was sure. "Everything turned out just fine."

She was quiet, and still not happy, but he couldn't do anything to fix it. He was hurting and until he was not, Belle would continue to not be happy. There was no magic to whisk the pain away, not here. Here he was mortal, and entirely at the mercy of a frail body. Just as he worried about Belle every time she stumbled or fell (which she did, often, almost daily), she would worry about him.

And they'd been in the hospital, the place of her nightmares.

And he hadn't been able to comfort her.

"Sweetheart, I'm alright," he tried to assure her with his drug addled tongue. "Just a bit sore. And drugged." He paused, peering at the arm of his chair. "This medicine makes everything funny," he said. "I don't like it."

Belle chuckled at that. "You like to be in control," she pointed out. She stood, pulled him to his feet. "Come on, you need to get to bed before you fall asleep in the chair again."

Standing made him dizzy- what was in that damn medicine anyway- and he leaned on Belle to make it up the stairs.

"You're staggering like a drunk man," Belle laughed once they made it safely to their room.

"The floor keeps moving," he insisted. He pointed at the rug with his cane, narrowing his eyes at the fabric. "The rug is waving at me."

"Oh, it is, is it?" Belle tipped him onto the bed, kneeling to remove his shoes.

"It doesn't usually do that."

"Perhaps you should wave back."

"Don't be silly," he chided. "Who waves at rugs?"

Belle bit her lip to stop her laughter. "Well apparently they wave at you, so maybe you should wave back, hm?"

Rumplestiltskin muttered something about flying carpets being unreliable, totally unsafe, don't ever ride one, while failing to unbutton his shirt. Between the two of them, they got him into his nightclothes and situated comfortably under the covers.

"Belle," he said, suddenly serious. "It really is okay."

Belle blinked down at him, hands fussing with his pillow. "What is?"

"Everything." He cupped her cheek in his palm, his eyes boring into hers. "Sweetheart, everything's okay." His hand slipped into her hair, twirling a curled lock around his finger.

She stilled, staring at him, her eyes searching his before she bent to give a kiss, smiling when his hand raised to brush her ribs, thumb traveling upwards. Well, he obviously wasn't in _too_ much pain then.

"Watch those hands, Rumple," she scolded, playfully slapping the wandering limb. "You don't even know what to do with them right now anyways."

"My hands get away from me, but I always know what to do with my arms," he muttered, eyes closing.

"Do you now?"

"Mmm," he hummed sleepily. "I keep them open for you. Always for you, my Belle." With a bit of effort he opened his eyes, managed to tug her down to hold her properly. "Just like this."

Belle's hand clenched into a fist as she curled against him, her nails digging into her palms, breaking the skin in tiny slivers, half crescent moons of red against pink flesh. Rumplestiltskin had fallen asleep holding her, not even moving when she shifted, raising to look at him.

He was peaceful as he slept, the years melting from his face. There wouldn't be a scar if they used the salve, but Belle would never forget that exact spot beneath his hair where the angry wound had greeted her when she'd found him unmoving on the floor.

Unresponsive to her pleas.

Still.

Rumplestiltskin was never _still_.

She'd never forget the absolute and total terror that had washed over her, the panic, the fear (his true name spilling from her lips in her terror, praying for a touch of magic so he'd wake, but he hadn't moved, not even when they'd loaded him onto a stretcher). She'd never been so afraid in her life. Not even the Ogre Wars had scared her as much as the thought of losing Rumplestiltskin did.

Belle kissed him gently, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet. "Please don't ever scare me like that again."

If he'd been awake, he would have promised her, and she would have believed him.

But he slept on. And was quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Random fluff break. Because shut up

* * *

The heel snapped off her shoe. Of course it did. It was the natural thing for the heel to do. Belle wasn't allowed to go through an entire day without running into and/or breaking something. Naturally, it _would_ be her favorite pair of heels, the blue ones with the ankle strap so like her shoes from the Dark Castle.

They were Rumplestiltskin's favorite too, and she always wore them with a blue skirt and white top to remind them of their old life (something told her that wearing a dress like her old one might attract more than a few stares).

The heel snapped because they were her favorite, and so she wore them as often as possible. The heels had been the perfect height too, enough to bring her closer to Rumplestiltskin's height, but not so much as to make her entirely too tall for her balance. Plus she could navigate the library ladder in them without a problem.

Well, without a problem until she stepped onto the first rung, her heel didn't like all the weight, and protested by simply falling off.

Graham's hand on the small of the back stopped her from stumbling backwards into the shelf behind her, and she clung to his arm while she raised her foot to examine the damage.

"No," she groaned. "Not my _shoes_."

Graham scratched the back of his head. "I don't understand women's obsession with shoes," he said with male sheepishness, waiting for the scold or The Look he usually got whenever he said that in the presence of Ruby (or even, sometimes, Mary Margaret).

"I wasn't obsessed with them," Belle said with a sad sigh, "but they were my favorite pair." She took a careful step forward and threw her head back, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "And now I'm off balance."

"You're always off balance."

Ah, there was The Look, a sideways glare, a purse of the lips, hands on hips, and Graham took a step back, raising his hands in surrender.

"I'm just saying! You don't exactly have the best reputation with flat surfaces. Or ladders. Or walking."

Belle swatted his arm, her hand smacking lightly against the leather of his jacket. "Oh, be quiet." But it was true, so she smiled.

But back to her problem. The after school rush would be here soon (mainly Henry and Paige and possibly Emma, who often came to "browse" at the exact time school let out), and she didn't have time to get to the shop, get the car keys, and drive home and back. She certainly didn't have time to walk. She couldn't go barefoot- even though the carpet was clean and soft, she didn't trust her toes to avoid the end tables or the shelves. Or the feet of the chairs. Or the feet of other people.

With a glance at the clock, Belle balanced herself on one foot to remove the ruined shoe. Graham eyed her warily, taking her elbow when she wobbled.

It hadn't been a clean snap- the heel had literally broken into two jagged pieces. They were goners then. Not even superglue would be enough to put the pieces back together (not that she would trust her precarious balance to the strength of a little glue anyways, really, that would just be _asking_ for something to happen).

"I've got to get on patrol," Graham said apologetically. "Emma's shift is almost up. Want me to give you a lift home?"

"Thank you, but I'll make Richard run home for another pair."

Graham smiled. "Husbands do have their uses," he laughed.

"What good is having one if he doesn't fetch shoes?" Belle asked playfully, tapping out a short message on her phone.

Rumplestiltskin and _texting_ of all things.

The world was odd.

_Broke my shoe. Can you make a trip home?_

The door opened, a burst of fresh sunlight and cool wind following Emma in. She searched out Graham and tossed him a set of keys, shedding her jacket as she came further into the climate controlled library. "All yours," she said. "I am so _done_ with today already, and it's barely three."

Belle's phone chimed.

_I happen to have a pair of your shoes in the car_, his message read._ I am not entirely sure why, but I'll bring them._ Belle grinned happily. Luck was playing fair now, it seemed. Any why shouldn't it? It had already destroyed her shoes. Luck definitely owed her one (or perhaps two or three, but she didn't want to get greedy, so she would settle for shoes).

"Alright then, I'm off." Graham nodded to Emma. "See you later?"

Emma, absorbed in the summary of a book, didn't look up. "Yup."

"Bye, Izzy. Tell Richard I said hello, and remind him he owes me a drink."

Belle waggled her fingers at the closing door, smiling at the thought of Rumplestiltskin and the Huntsman sitting at Granny's counter, sharing a drink or two. Richard and Graham didn't call each other friends, but they were close enough that they could exchange a friendly word or two in passing. They had "lawyer-client meetings" (drinks at the bar) every now and then, and always pretended to be angry at each other for something. It was amusing really.

Emma's head snapped up when the door opened again, her face falling, slightly, when Paige bounded in alone.

"Hello Paige! How was school?"

Paige let out a long suffering sigh. "Long. And Chester got hair all over my sweater this morning- look! It's all orange and fuzzy."

"That's the thing about cats," Emma piped up, tossing the book back onto the desk. "They get hair on everything. Including what they don't even touch."

"Which is why I prefer dogs," a new voice announced.

Emma straightened, pinning Gold under a calm gaze as he appeared from the back room. Belle rolled her eyes. He _would_ go for the dramatic entrance. Using the front door like everyone else was unheard of for him.

Paige, wide eyed, scurried off to the fiction section.

"Gold," Emma greeted, levelly.

"Deputy Swan." He turned to Belle, a pair of black flats dangling from his fingers. "Will these do?"

"Oh, thank you." Belle sat on the stool to slip them on, wiggling her toes happily. She watched Rumplestiltskin examine the heel of the other shoe, shaking his head.

"You would find a way to break these."

Belle made a face, resisting the urge to stick our her tongue. "Hush. Graham already teased me, and I've had quite enough of people announcing that I am a klutz today, thank you." She turned to face Emma, making a show of not looking at her husband. "Men."

Emma's lips twitched as Henry popped up by her elbow.

"Hi, Izzy!"

"Hello, Henry." Belle leaned over the counter to accept the books from him. "Finished with these already?"

"Yeah, they were really good." He turned to Emma, all smiles. "Izzy has the coolest taste in books."

Emma began to smile as well, her gaze sliding to Izzy, busy scanning the books back into the system. "The librarian typically knows which books are best," she said.

"And she would know because she has read every single one of them."

Belle gave Rumplestiltskin an exasperated look. "I have not," she protested, sniffing daintily. "Just all the ones on this floor."

Gold smiled. "You're the best one to ask, in any case." His hand slipped to her hip underneath the counter, his thumb tracing circles on her spine.

Belle nudged him with her elbow. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere," she informed him. "I haven't forgiven you for making me late this morning." He'd turned the alarm off rather than just hitting snooze, and he and Belle had both slept too long.

"I should be flogged."

Belle turned her unamused look to a very amused Emma. "Can you arrest him for something?"

Lips thinning with the effort of hiding the smile, her brows drawing together in slight confusion, Emma pretended to think about it. "I'm sure I could come up with something."

Henry tilted his head, studying the man across the counter. "Mr. Gold, you're old, right?" he asked abruptly.

"Henry, manners." Emma hissed.

"Ancient," Gold agreed, and it wasn't even a lie.

"Were you here when the town was first built?" Henry asked, ignoring his mother's appalled face. His manners didn't matter, he had questions! "Like, when Storybrooke was... made?"

Rumplestiltskin failed to hide his smile. "You could say that."

"So, how old are you then? Do you remember how long it's been since the town was formed? What about you, Izzy?"

"Henry."

"I'm three hundred and twelve."

"Really?" Henry brightened at that and Emma very nearly smiled at Gold's matter-of-fact tone.

Belle laughed, stacking the books neatly on the waiting cart. "He's not quite _that_ old." (He was actually much older.) Henry looked disappointed. "He's forty-two."

"That's it?"

"It sounds about right," he agreed, winking at the crestfallen boy. "And she'd know better than me."

Emma raised a brow, looking between Gold and the woman before her. Belle could almost see her mind trying to work something out, and suddenly realized that while she'd talked to the deputy before, she'd failed to introduce herself properly. Emma knew her as Izzy the librarian, the girl that Henry sometimes chatted with when they crossed paths, and that was it.

Rumplestiltskin met Emma's gaze with a blank face, one of his own brows raising as well. "Something on your mind, Miss Swan?" he asked neutrally.

The corner of Emma's mouth turned up. "No, just... trying to figure things out."

Henry looked between the adults, turning to Belle with a question in his eyes. Belle smiled down at him. "I don't think anyone told her that Richard and I are married," she told him.

"Oh." Henry waved back at Paige, smiling awkwardly, his grin a bit sheepish. "By the way Emma, Izzy is married to Mr. Gold."

"Thanks for the update," Emma said dryly.

Gold smirked. "Now you're wondering about our ages."

"How old _are_ you, Izzy?" Henry wanted to know.

Emma shrugged. "Curiosity never hurt anyone, but it's none of my business." She gave Henry a gentle shove. "I'd better get going before your mom turns up and tries to fire me."

"But it's the library," Henry protested, no longer interested in Belle's answer. "She can't get mad that you're in the _public_ _library_."

"She will if she sees me here with you. See you later, kid."

"I'll be thirty in a few months," Belle told Henry. "Why so interested in our ages?"

"Just curious," Henry said quickly. "I'm going to look around before my mom gets here." With that, he headed to the shelves, disappearing quickly between the tall rows.

"I'd better go as well," Gold said quietly, leaning in to give his wife a kiss (Gold might be a bastard to everyone in town, but no one could deny that he loved his wife). "See you at home."

He followed Emma out the front door, turning to head towards the shop when her voice stopped him. "I never figured you for the married type, Gold." He turned to find her staring at him, and he fought the smirk. She was trying to figure him out, but she didn't know where to start. "Not happily married anyways."

Rumplestiltskin smiled- a smirk softened at the edges, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Neither did I," he admitted quietly. "My wife is..." he grasped for the right word, hand rolling as his thoughts gathered. There was no one word to describe Belle. He could fill her entire library with books of nothing but her and still not find a single idiom that was _Belle_.

She was Belle, and she was many things.

She was also not many things, and after ten years she still surprised him, still amazed him. Still loved him, still put up with him, still held his hand through the darkness that threatened to consume him. His warrior, his brave, beautiful, wonderful Belle could not simply be put into words. Belle was experienced. Belle was lived.

Belle was everything.

"My wife," he decided, "is as stubborn as she is patient. She is kind and has a backbone made of pure diamond. She is her own person, has her own mind. She is the smartest woman I know, and the bravest." _And nothing I deserve_.

"And she married you." And there were a thousand questions in that statement, none of which he could answer, the center, the core of them all being _Why_.

Ten years later, he still had no idea.

"I said she was smart, not that she made good decisions."

Emma gave him a once-over, chin angled as she studied him, humming thoughtfully. He'd thrown her a bit, showing her the Richard to the Gold, and she didn't know what to do with the knowledge that the man the town had warned her about was happily married.

Was as in love with his wife as his wife was with him.

That was the crux of it all, the heart of the confusion. How could a man so terrible, so feared, love and be loved in return?

"The age thing was an issue, wasn't it?" Emma asked, eyes narrowed to try and hide what looked like sympathy.

"A bit," he agreed. "Twelve years to us, a lifetime for others, and another reason everyone told her to run for the hills." He grinned impishly. "Apparently I'm a dirty old man."

Emma snorted. She shrugged, half turned and walking away (she truly wasn't afraid of him, watching him over her shoulder, but turning her back, leaving him behind as she continued on her way). "I've had bigger age gaps. If it works, it works. People can shove it."

Rumplestiltskin smirked.

"Now that," he said, "is a philosophy I can live by."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Early update because 1) I'm in the process of moving and won't have internet for a few days once I'm in my new apartment and 2) I'm working nine hours back to back the next few days and I didn't want to leave you guys waiting for an extra three days or so. So BOOM. Update :D

* * *

Mary Margaret was rather upset that her husband was married (though she had no idea David was _her_ husband, just a man who was married that decided to stay with his Storybrooke wife rather than going with his Enchanted Forest True Love), and so Belle was going out to dinner with her to try and raise her spirits, leaving him to fend for himself for a few hours.

Naturally, Rumplestiltskin wound up in the shop after a take out dinner of a burger and soggy fries (he couldn't cook anything more complicated than eggs without burning something), tinkering with the piano in the back when Graham appeared to call in the drink that he was owed. Rumplestiltskin really should have been heading home, Belle was surely on her way back by now, but something made him pause to consider the offer. Graham looked... off. Almost angry, and definitely confused and ashamed of something.

Knowing what it had to be about (because he knew about these things, even if he didn't want to), Rumplestiltskin had agreed. He could use a drink himself, even though it was his turn to pay, and so out they went, favoring Granny's instead of the bar (they weren't allowed to go in unsupervised anymore after last time... too many drinks had been consumed between them and Graham had apparently started a new tradition of singing off-key renditions of Irish songs before closing).

After Graham's first beer he downed five shots and ordered two more, placing one in front of Rumplestiltskin (though at the moment he was Richard, but he took the shot regardless, because the subject was coming up and he would need alcohol in his system to be able to discuss it).

"Cheers," the sheriff said flatly, knocking his shot back in one quick motion. Rumplestiltskin drank his quickly, wincing when he realized he'd been served Gin.

Graham slammed the shot glass down on the table where it soon joined the half-hazard pile of glasses already lined up on Ruby's tray. Ruby gave him a look, brow cocked as she eyed him, but gathered the dishes without comment, except to say she'd be right back with more. She spared Rumplestiltskin a look that was somehow a question and some measure of amusement while still managing to be a soft glare (he still hadn't been forgiven for his contract with Ashley, but he admired Ruby for trying to help her friend), then sauntered off to the kitchen.

Rumplestiltskin picked up his drink and pinned Graham under a steady gaze. "I take it Emma found out about your relationship with Regina," he said dryly.

Graham choked mid-swallow, half the drink splattering onto the table with his coughs. He beat his chest with his fist and gasped, finally managing to take a gulp of air.

Rumplestiltskin took a calm sip of his scotch. "I didn't think people did spit takes in real life," he mused.

"How-" Graham coughed again, turning watery eyes to his almost-but-not-quite-friend in shock. "How did you- how long have...?"

"I know a great deal of things, Sheriff. Who Regina beds is, regrettably, one of them." Minding the drops of whiskey, Rumplestiltskin sat his glass aside, reaching for a napkin to clean his side of the table. His suit was expensive and he didn't want spots of whiskey on the sleeves. "As for how long I've known, well." He wadded the napkin, placed it neatly in his empty glass. "If you know how to tell about these things, it's hardly a secret."

Graham rubbed his forehead, looking like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him right then and there. "Great," he groaned. "I suppose Izzy knows as well, then?"

Probably, considering Belle knew practically everything, including several things she shouldn't. "If she does, I didn't tell her." He accepted the new glass Ruby handed him, ignoring Sidney Glass staring the pair of them down a few booths away. "Belle knows a great deal of things as well, but she's careful to never ask about what she doesn't want to know."

Graham's hand covered his face, but he raised his glass. "To the women who know things, and the men they torment," he said with mock cheer.

Rumplestiltskin lost the fight with the smirk, touching his glass to Graham's. "And to all the things they know that we never shall," he added, taking a long drink.

The door slammed open suddenly, Emma stalking in, her boots loudly announcing her. Her eyes zeroed in on the sheriff, narrowing when she saw them together. Rumplestiltskin slapped a bill on the table and stood. His life was complicated enough, thanks. If he could avoid any of the drama surrounding others, he would.

"Graham," Emma ground out, stomping over. "We need to talk."

"And that's my cue."

"Traitor," Graham muttered.

Rumplestiltskin touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. "Every man for himself," he said, and made for the door. "He's all yours, Miss Swan."

The Dark One had picked up a few things in his dealings, but above all else he knew when to make himself scarce. And being a married man he knew all too well what that look in Emma's eye had meant, and so, seeing that look (and having been the recipient of it before), he'd left. Not run, no matter what Graham liked to think. No, it was more... more of a hasty retreat.

No matter what it was called, there was an impending domestic scene about to blow up for all to see, and he did not want to be around to witness it. Give him an overdue loan over an arguing couple (_especially_ an arguing couple that had no idea they _were_ a couple yet) any day.

* * *

Belle wasn't in bed.

Lifting his head to glance around the room, Rumplestiltskin realized that not only was Belle not in bed, she wasn't in the bedroom at all. The sheets were cold, the blankets turned back, and Belle was distinctly absent.

"Belle?"

He listened closely, waiting for a tell-tale sound coming from the bathroom, hesitating, barely daring to breathe in case she was perhaps downstairs in the kitchen, but the house was silent, the only sound coming from the rain pattering against the windows.

Confused, and a bit worried, Rumplestiltskin clambered out of bed, hands snatching clumsily for his cane. The digital clock on the nightstand (on her side now, where he couldn't reach it to turn it off) informed him it was well past three in the morning, the time of night that even he usually succumbed to sleep.

Usually, unless Belle wasn't there for him to curl around or hold.

Cane tapping quietly, he made his way down the hallway, eyes scanning the first floor as he checked the (empty) rooms on his way to the stairs, listening carefully for a thump, a breath, a word, her not-snore coming from the couch, anything. The wind howled outside, rain sloshing against the windows, but there was no thunder, just a simple drizzle, and still no Belle.

She was not in their bedroom, or their bathroom. He searched room by room, slowly making his way to the back of the house. She wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, and all the bathrooms downstairs were empty as well. He paused at the thought, but checked the guest rooms just to be sure, both relieved and not to find them unoccupied. Belle wasn't mad at him then, sleeping it off in another room (though he was fairly certain he hadn't done anything... lately), but she was still nowhere in sight.

There was one more possibility, more likely than the rest. It was the last room in the house and so it was his last stop before he gave in to the panic threatening to claw at him (Belle gone in the middle of the night was never _not_ something to panic about).

Sure enough, he found her curled on the couch in the library.

More accurately, he found her curled on the couch in the library, legs drawn up under her, head resting on her arm, _without_ a book in her hand. Her head was bent, her hair a curtain of curls between them. Her breath came in large gasps as she struggled to stay quiet, shoulders jerking with each inhale.

She'd been crying- was still crying, hiding away in the furthest corner of the house, and his heart broke. He knew a panic attack when he saw one. And he'd seen several, had held her through most of them (he wasn't always there for her, but she needed him now, and so he went to her).

"Oh, Belle..." he breathed, quickening his step. He wanted to kneel before her, to face her as he tried to calm her, but it was raining and cold and his leg was hurting too much for it to be possible. He settled beside her instead, his arm around her shoulders to pull her until she rested against his chest.

She sniffed, eyes closed, a tear leaking from under her lashes. "I didn't want to wake you," she whispered. She covered her mouth with her hand to try and stop the desperate gulps of air her body was convinced it needed.

"I never sleep if you're not around," he said into her hair, kissing the tangled locks. "You know that." His cane hooked easily against the arm of the couch, both hands now free to hold and soothe her. "Nightmares?"

Belle nodded, curling tightly against him. Her breathing had evened out, but she was far from calm. "I haven't had one in so long, but we went to the hospital." Her voice cracked and she swallowed, shoulders twitching with the effort of breathing normally. "I guess they came back."

Rumplestiltskin rarely missed his magic anymore. His magic was dark and best used to control people, to manipulate and assert power. But he had still been able to use to heal and help, when the price was right. If the situation called for it, the Dark One's magic was actually useful. But he didn't miss the madness that had come with it, the drive for power, always needing more, more, more.

Sometimes though, he missed the magic itself. The way it twirled and gathered in his hands. How it felt to be able to do the impossible, to push himself to control, to harness that energy. He missed the convenience of it, the way it made life easier. He missed it when his leg hurt, he missed it when he couldn't sleep, and he missed it most of all when Belle's dreams turned against her, assaulting her when she was defenseless.

In their land a simple spell would have demolished the nightmares, and they never would have bothered Belle again.

In Storybrooke there were medications, little pills in bright orange bottles that never seemed to do the job.

"Which one?" he asked, because there were many terrors that came in the night, many horrors that played out in her head. He longed to sweep the darkness from her mind, to carry her back to bed where she could sleep undisturbed, but there was no magic here, and all he could do was hold her. "Tell me, sweetheart. You'll feel better talking about it."

"You didn't wake up." Her arm wrapped around his middle, squeezing almost painfully. "We were back in the hospital but you were hurt much worse. There was no blood anywhere but you wouldn't move and I couldn't find any help and you just _laid_ there. And then you weren't breathing and still not moving, and then you were just _gone_. I couldn't find you, no one would help me, they just tried to drag me away, back downstairs, in the dark, back into that cell."

He could feel her shaking, feel the tremors working through her body, the tears soaking his shirt. He ran a hand down her back in long, smooth strokes, pressing gently on her spine to pull her closer.

Without his magic to wrap around her and protect her, the only comfort he could offer her was his arms. He was a master of words, spinning them as easily as he had spun wool or straw, but they failed him in the face of Belle's tears, the clever phrases slipping away. Rumplestiltskin could only hold her tightly and hope that somehow it would all be okay. There were no words to promise this, and if there were the right ones abandoned him when he needed them.

"I'll never let them," he said hoarsely, his heart hammering at the sound of her sobs. "No one will ever take you again, Belle. Not ever." That, at least, he could promise. "Sweetheart, look at me." He tilted her face with a finger under her chin, wishing he could promise her more. "No matter the time or the place, if you're frightened, if you need me, you find me, or you wake me. I don't care where I am or what I'm doing, alright?"

If he couldn't stop the nightmares or the tears, he would at least be there to share her pain, to steady her when her foundations shook.

For better or for worse, sickness and in health.

Rumplestiltskin would always be there for Belle, in whatever way he could. He still didn't understand how she could possibly need him as much as he needed her, how she could love him as much as he loved her, but he didn't have to understand it to know that it was true.

"I'm never going to leave you, Belle," he promised her. "Not even if this world ends. I will always be right here."

He promised her as she'd promised him countless times, her own oath vowed to her. Her tears dried, her mouth forming a fragile smile, lower lip trembling slightly, but a smile to soothe him as she stretched to kiss him.

And he prayed those words, that promise, would never make a liar out of him.

"I love you," she said. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Rumplestiltskin smiled weakly. "You always worry me." At her look he kissed her again, gently, lingering when she sighed. "Husbands are allowed to worry about their wives," he said against her lips.

"Only if wives are allowed to worry about their husbands too."

"I do believe that is the very definition of a marriage- worrying about someone all the time."

She giggled, then yawned, prodding him with her elbow when he smirked.

"To bed, then," he declared. "If the sun is not up, then I refuse to be."

"You refuse even if the sun is up," she muttered, but stood with him, only surrendering his cane after the payment of another kiss (she was greedy with those and so he took care with them, no brush of lips was ever taken for granted, each one worth something).

With his leg and his cane he couldn't carry her back to bed, had to settle for draping his arm around her waist, fingers splayed against her hip. She clung to him, never releasing him even when they curled back onto the mattress, her head resting on his shoulder. She was still too tense to sleep, even when he began to rub her back.

"Sleep, love," he whispered. "I'll be right here when you wake."

"Guarding me against my nightmares," she murmured, voice thick as she fought sleep.

He kissed her, long and slow, fingers delving into her hair to cradle her head. "Always," he promised her.

It was all he could give her, but it was enough, and Belle soon drifted off to sleep. Rumplestiltskin held her through the night, fingertips tracing idle patterns across her arm or back. When the birds began to sing their morning songs, the sun not quite up but the sky lightening, he pulled her closer still, burrowing his face in her hair.

With her scent surrounding him and the knowledge that she slept undisturbed, Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, listening to her heart thumping in tune with his. As sleep approached, threatening to claim him as well, he became aware of a sound that wasn't the alarm clock.

His phone was ringing.

His phone was ringing at six o'clock in the morning and there had better be a damn good reason for it.

"Gold."

"...Hey, Gold. It-it's Emma. Uh, deputy Swan."

Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes fully, his arm tightening around Belle. "Something's wrong," he said.

"Yeah," Emma whispered. "I... you're Graham's emergency contact and his lawyer, so-"

Dislodging the waking Belle, Rumplestiltskin sat up. "Graham?" he asked, confused. This did not bode well. "Is he alright?" He'd been fine two nights ago. What could have possibly happened since then?

The pause on the other end of the line was answer enough before Emma even spoke, and then it was so much worse than he'd imagined, just as bad as he'd feared.

"He had a heart attack." Emma's voice was flat, business like, her words measured and carefully spoken. "He died last night."

"Richard, what's wrong?"

"He, uh. He doesn't have any family, so they'll only release the body to you." She lost her calm tone, her voice growing soft and sad. "I'm at the hospital right now. I identified him, but they said you have to be here for... everything else."

His head fell heavily into his hand. Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, feeling it catch in his lungs, his heart pounding. Belle's hand was on his shoulder, running down his back in long strokes as she tried to comfort him. He focused on that, concentrating on the feel of her hand upon him. He took another deep breath. How was he supposed to tell her this?

"I'll be there shortly," he told Emma.

His phone exploded against the far wall before he realized it had left his hand, the plastic breaking and scattering onto the floor.

"Rumple-!"

He turned and gathered Belle into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared.

The Huntsman. The Sheriff. Graham. His...(client, his ally)... friend.

His friend was gone. And he'd never be back.

_Magic can do much, but not that. Dead, is dead._

Dead is dead.

And Graham was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

"I didn't know you and Graham were so close, Mr. Gold."

Rumplestiltskin didn't turn his gaze away from the coffin being lowered into the ground. He couldn't stomach looking at Regina. Not now. Not when he knew she had to have done this.

"We weren't," he said quietly, voice low and rough.

"Oh?" Regina moved closer, her shoulder nearly brushing his. "Well that's curious. I'd heard you paid for the funeral."

There wouldn't had to have been a funeral if Regina wasn't so desperate for love, so demented that she thought she could force people to love her. The second someone turned away from her, rejected her in any way, she either pulled them back to betray them or killed them. Rumplestiltskin had to wonder if he was the cause of it. She'd always been despondent; no love from her mother and too much from her father had left her unbalanced to say the least.

He'd added fuel to that fire, gave her the power she'd craved. He'd taught her how to be who she was. He'd been the one to make her rip out hearts, to hold them in her hand, to crush them just because she could.

And now Graham was gone.

"I'm his lawyer," he said, turning only his head to her. If he turned to face her fully, he'd have to touch her, his shoulder would bump hers, his hand might touch her hip. If he touched her... he didn't trust himself not to kill her. "I oversaw his finances, found enough to cover most of this. I had no trouble providing the rest."

Regina pursed her perfectly colored lips and batted her mascara coated lashes. She hadn't shed a single tear, her "grief" quiet and hard to find. There was perhaps, a small shred of sadness in her, but Rumplestiltskin didn't believe it was the same sadness that plagued everyone else. If anything, she'd be sorry she'd lost someone else to false love, another one of her puppets gone.

She'd dressed in black, even added a hat with a little veil, held Henry's hand through the entire thing (the poor boy was in shock, face blank save for an occasional tear), every inch the Mayor, sorry for the loss of the colleague.

But her eyes were calculating.

She'd been studying them all throughout the ceremony, and now she was studying him head on, trying to figure him out.

"Graham was Belle's friend," Rumplestiltskin said quietly, and that was true, an answer for her, but it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

Regina's gaze slid to the group of women a few feet from them. Ruby and Emma surrounded Mary Margaret, all three women baring different stages of anguish. Henry was folded into Emma's side, his face buried against her stomach. Regina raised a brow, but turned back to him, uninterested in making a scene where she would appear to be entirely in the wrong (her son was seeking comfort, and she wouldn't deny him that, even if it wasn't from her).

"I don't see her. Your wife," Regina added, as if he needed to be reminded. "I'm sure she was here a minute ago. Has she left already?"

Taking a measured step forward, Rumplestiltskin was able to swing around to face the Queen without touching her in any way. The ground beneath him was on a small incline due to the upturned earth, giving him slightly more height, enough to look down at her.

"She had another visit to make." The name on Isabelle French's mother's grave was the name of Belle's mother, and the grave was visited regularly, when she knew Moe wouldn't be there. "Excuse me."

Regina stepped to the side as he did, her eyes suspicious and glinting. "Perhaps we should talk," she said, as if mentioning the weather. "About your wife. I heard she was back in therapy. I do hope she's not relapsing. It would be a shame if she had to be locked away for real."

Now Rumplestiltskin was certain. He was going to kill Regina.

"Hey." Emma appeared, her arm around Henry, who tried furiously to wipe away his tears. Rumplestiltskin felt his lips quirk in what could have been a comforting smile, but he wasn't sure. Emma's gaze bounced between the two of them. "...everything okay?"

"Regina was just leaving."

"Was I?"

Rumplestiltskin's gaze was hard, every bit the Dark One and he didn't care if she noticed. "Take your boy home," he suggested. "Give him something warm to drink and comfort him. Let him come by the shop if he wants." He found it in himself to smirk. "Please."

Regina's back straightened. "Come on, Henry," she said. "It's time to go."

Henry gave Emma a tight squeeze. "I'll see you later," she promised him, returning the hug. Henry nodded, peering up at Rumplestiltskin. He had a bit of Regina in him after all, or he'd picked up her calculating gaze. He was a smart lad, and knew better to argue when it wouldn't do any good, that was for sure. He took Regina's hand and let himself be lead away, twisting to wave at them both.

"Hey, thanks for sorting out the funding for this," Emma said quietly. "I couldn't make heads or tails of all that legal mumbo jumbo."

Rumplestiltskin snorted. "Legal mumbo jumbo is my specialty," he muttered. He spotted Belle a few plots away, arm in arm with Ruby, found a smile for her when she glanced over. "I have a few of Graham's things in the shop," he informed Emma. "I don't want to throw it all out, so if you want anything, come by and claim it."

Emma nodded once, following his gaze to the three women clustered together. "You were more than just his lawyer, weren't you?" she asked as she faced him again, something quiet in her voice.

The truth spilled out before he could stop it (and maybe he didn't want to stop it, maybe it was time he admitted it to someone other than Belle). "Graham was the closest thing to a friend I had." When Emma only blinked and crossed her arms, he told himself to relax. Regina wasn't around, and Emma was still trying to work him out. Maybe giving her a bit more of Richard would help. "He was more Belle's friend than mine, but he hardly batted an eye when we began dating, just pulled me aside and mentioned that hurting a friend of the Sheriff's might not be the best idea in the world."

Emma smiled at that. "He said she was pretty much his little sister," she admitted.

Yes. He had said that before. Rumplestiltskin had almost forgotten.

"Graham was there when Belle went missing," he continued, watching Emma's brows draw together in confusion- apparently no one had mentioned _that_ to her, "and he was there when she was found. He helped rebuild the library when I proposed. He was in our wedding. Stood beside me, kept me from falling off the damn alter."

"Was pretty much the best man?"

One of his shoulders shrugged, his arm reaching out to loop around Belle's waist. "More or less. Hello, sweetheart." Emma gave Belle a small smile that was weakly returned.

"There's a gathering at Granny's," Belle told him. "We're under orders to come and eat something before we go home, and I'd rather not argue with Ruby right now."

"As long as it's not that rubbery lasagna. I refuse to eat another bite of it. Come by tomorrow," Rumplestiltskin called over his shoulder as they made their way to the car. "I'll have his things ready for you."

Safely in the car, the engine purring to life, Belle reached for his hand. "Are you alright?" she whispered.

Waiting for the line of cars to disperse, the quiet surrounding them, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. "No," he said honestly. "But I will be."

Neither of them were, not really. But they held onto each other throughout the day, always touching. Whether they were walking arm in arm, or had their hands clasped tightly, or just leaned against the other. They weren't quite sure if they were lending strength to or taking it from the other, but they both knew what would happen if they released their spouse.

So they held on, tightly, and didn't let go.

* * *

Emma was going to have to be Sheriff.

Or Storybrooke would be doomed. In more ways than one.

Regina tried to appoint Sidney, her personal puppet (the idiot gene that had fallen in love with her and been tricked into killing her husband), but Rumplestiltskin had given Emma the means to get in the way of that, and so an election would be held. Unfortunately, standing up to Regina, while admirable and enough to get her noticed, wasn't enough to get Emma the votes they needed. And considering all of Storybrooke would be voting, they needed a lot of votes.

If they were to stand a chance at getting Emma to where she needed to be, something big was going to have to happen.

And Belle wouldn't like it.

Rumplestiltskin was going to have to break his promise to her.

Because he had a plan. A dangerous plan, he'll admit, but a plan that would work nonetheless. If executed properly, no one would really get hurt. If not, Regina would be the only one injured, and that wouldn't be so bad. But it would be enough to send Emma after Mr. Gold, and if she really was they person they needed her to be, she'd stand up to him, publicly, and without fear.

She'd do the right thing. She had entirely too much of her parents in her to do otherwise.

Emma needed this push. If Gold had to shove her, then so be it. It needed to be done, or they would lose the election.

Sidney would be Sheriff, Regina the power behind it, and Emma would soon be tossed out of town, or locked away, or simply leave. The Savior needed some help, and as luck would have it, Rumplestiltskin was feeling helpful.

Emma probably wouldn't ever trust him, not even a little, after it was done, but that would be alright.

Belle... Belle would be hurt by this. Possibly even angry. He'd accepted that, and braced himself for the consequences.

He couldn't tell her the plan beforehand. She'd hate it, she'd plead with him to do something else, and he'd listen to her. Belle had always had that power over him, to make him rethink, to pause, to second guess. He couldn't afford to do that, not when everything hung in the balance. This plan was the only thing that could, that would, work. Anything else would cost them too much.

Emma would only stay in Storybrooke if she had a reason to stay. Henry was reason enough, but without a steady job and a reason for her to push back against Regina, she wouldn't be able to make it permanent. She would leave, the curse would live on, and Bae would still be lost to him.

Rumplestiltskin lit the lanolin torch and tossed it easily into the building. Emma would see it, and she'd know.

The question was, would she do what he needed her to do with that knowledge?

If not, Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure he could rig an election, but that wouldn't hold up for long under close scrutiny. Emma would just have to do as he planned.

It was all or nothing.

* * *

Belle was quiet as they left the debate, silent in the car, eyes straight ahead, but once the front door shut behind them, she spun on her heel, eyes spewing fire that she unleashed upon him.

"What," she hissed, "the _hell_ were you _thinking_?"

She really was frightening, his little wife. And she'd asked a question, so Rumplestiltskin answered her, honestly, as he sank onto the couch.

"I was thinking that Emma needed to win the election," he said mildly. "This was the only way."

"So you set the Mayor's Office on fire? Someone could have been hurt- someone could have been killed!" She threw her clutch to the floor, a violent outburst that startled him. Belle used words and logic in arguments, not tantrums. He didn't think she'd ever thrown a tantrum in her life. "You put two people's lives in danger, and all you can say is that Emma needed to win the _election_?" She yelling, properly yelling, her voice loud, the pitch faltering with the volume.

Belle was more than angry. She was furious.

And she was furious at him.

"What would you have had me do?" he asked as he stood, hands folded over his cane. "Hm? If Emma loses, she leaves, and that will be it. There is no other way to break the curse, and you know it."

"This isn't about the damn curse!" Belle exploded. She jabbed her finger into his chest so hard he nearly staggered back a step. "This is about you willingly putting lives in danger. This is about you planning and plotting, and positively _giddy_ at nearly killing Emma and Regina!"

"Would it really be such a bad thing if Regina died?" he asked, his own voice growing louder. Belle was the only person in the world that could make him forget clever word play and go straight for shouting. "After everything she's done, after everything she's cost us, do you honestly expect me to care for her _well-being_?"

And then there were tears, a trembling lip, and Belle stepped closer to him, toe to toe, eye to eye. "I know you, Rumplestiltskin," she said lowly. "You can't possibly-"

"What?" Rumplestiltskin snapped. "I can't possibly what? Want to kill Regina? If you truly know me so well, then you would know that yes, I would, and happily. I'm still the Dark One, _dearie_. Don't you ever forget that."

Belle raised her chin, every inch the princess facing down the beast; unafraid, but sad and disappointed. Angry and stubborn. And hurt. "You've made your choice."

"And am I going to regret this?" he sneered. "You heard what Emma said. She stood up to me, the whole damn town saw it." She still didn't understand, she was too angry to see. "It will work, Belle. That's all that matters."

Belle made no effort to hide her tears. "No," she said. "It's not." She collected her purse from the floor. She couldn't look at him when she straightened. "Don't come to bed tonight." When he opened his mouth, she overrode him. "You broke your promise- your _deal_."

Yes, he had.

And Rumplestiltskin was very aware that in doing so, he had nearly broken his wife's heart as well.

"I'll see you in the morning."

Belle went up to bed, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone in the sudden quiet. The plan would work, he knew, and it was a good plan, Belle had to know that.

But it wasn't good in the sense that it had been _right_. It was good only because it was flawless. Emma stood up to him, privately, and when he hadn't backed down, she'd made it public. Storybrooke had seen her face Regina, and now they'd seen her go a round with him. They would vote for her, and she would stay. Regina wouldn't be able to control her, not in the slightest, and the curse would be broken.

It had all come together perfectly.

So why did he feel so... lost?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** It's my 21st today so before I go out drinking and forget to update, HERE'S THE UPDATE!

* * *

He slept in the guest room for a week. Or he would have, if he'd been able to actually _sleep_. Every night Rumplestiltskin brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, limping out of the bathroom to make his way to a bed that wasn't theirs. The second window by the dresser wouldn't close; it never had and he'd never fixed it, never had a need, and he curled up under extra blankets to fight the cold. Most nights he just lay in bed, watching the shadows move across the room, waiting for the sun to come up.

On nights he did sleep it was only for an hour or two (and he was grateful that there were no dreams or nightmares that haunted him, but if there had been he'd deserve them). He would wake to the sound of Belle's alarm down the hall and the sun in his eyes, his arm reaching across the empty bed to hold someone who wasn't there.

Part of his punishment was rising early, and he followed orders without complaint. He shuffled downstairs at six am sharp if he slept, and five if he didn't, usually making it to the kitchen before Belle.

They didn't speak to each other.

Belle was thinking things over. Rumplestiltskin knew she was. She had her I'm-trying-to-figure-things-out face on whenever he saw her. He didn't want to say anything to interrupt her thoughts (especially when her thoughts could lean towards forgiving him), and he kept quiet, waiting for her to speak first, waiting for a sign, a hint, that it was okay to approach her.

But days went by and she said nothing. So he did the same.

The mornings were torture. Breakfast used to be full of teasing and stealing bites of each other's plates, but now it was eaten quietly, silverware clattering against dishes and the scrape of their chairs the only sounds made. They rode into town together still, the ride silent. Belle was very business like in her exit, making sure she had her purse and phone, digging the keys out of her pocket, not looking at him when she shut the door behind her.

Rumplestiltskin always waited until she was safely inside before journeying to the shop, where he would sit in more silence until he went around town to collect rent (he took his time with that to put off going home to a silent house). He ate lunch alone, ordering something to go, eating half of it in the shop's back room.

Belle didn't go home with him at night. She walked, or got a ride from Ruby or Mary Margaret.

He'd come home to his silent house a few hours after the sun set, Belle nowhere in sight. The door to her library was always closed, and Rumplestiltskin never intruded. Belle needed space, and as much as it hurt knowing she needed space from him, he stayed away.

Every night there was a plate in the fridge for him, leftovers from whatever she'd had. His wife might be angry at him, but she still made sure he was taken care of (and didn't that just _hurt_).

The week crawled by slowly, second by agonizing second, and the more silent Belle was, the more convinced Rumplestiltskin became that she'd never talk to him again. She was angry, and she was hurt... and Rumplestiltskin understood why.

It wasn't just that he'd broken his promise to her, thought that played a very large part. He hadn't lied to her _per se_, but he'd deliberately not told her certain things, carefully shaping words and phrases to keep her in the dark. Omission was betrayal, and he had betrayed Belle's trust. She'd trusted him when he'd told her he would have to play a role (he'd taken it too far, put people in danger). She'd trusted him when he promised to tell her what he'd have to do before he did it (he'd do anything to get his son back, but there were lines and he had crossed them).

And he hadn't told her.

And he'd been lying to himself about why.

It wasn't that he hadn't told her because he thought she would stop him (though he knew she had that power and everything would have failed miserably if she'd asked him to find another way). He hadn't told her... because he hadn't wanted to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Setting fire to the Mayor's office while Regina was inside (he truly didn't care about her, but Belle seemed to because she was Belle and cared about everyone), pushing Emma to become the hero because he needed her to be one, getting her elected so she'd stay, manipulating events and people with glee, it had all been necessary. And he'd almost enjoyed being up to his old tricks again, almost liked knowing that people were still afraid of him, still bowed to his demands because he was powerful and strong.

Almost.

There had been a sliver of enjoyment, a tiny beacon of glee that everything worked out how it wanted it to, and if he wasn't careful, he'd mistake that happiness for something it wasn't, and he'd truly start terrorizing people, the Dark One loose in Storybrooke. He didn't want to be that version of himself anymore, but Mr. Gold had to be a bastard or the curse wouldn't be broken.

Emma had rallied against him, and the town knew she was strong now. Now he could stay away, let Storybrooke think Emma was enough to make him hang back. They'd accept her, and she'd become the person they all needed her to be.

Belle was angry he'd reverted, years of her hard work and love gone in an instant, and he needed that.

Because if she had accepted it, if she hadn't been hurt by his actions, then he'd do it again without hesitation. He didn't want to, but if it got the job done then he would.

But he regretted his actions.

He was sorry, and he wasn't just sorry because he'd disappointed his wife (but he had and, oh that was a special kind of torture, knowing his actions were finally driving her away). Rumplestiltskin was sorry because he'd disappointed himself, something he hadn't done in over three hundred years.

He didn't _like_ planning and plotting anymore, not when the plans could get someone hurt. He'd become disgusted with himself the second he'd tossed the torch through the window, but he'd hid behind the lies he told himself (and the truth was it really _did_ need to be done, there hadn't been another way and he could admit that).

A week of silence from Belle, and Rumplestiltskin had realized the truth, peeled away the lies to stare it down. He didn't like what he'd done anymore than Belle did. And he was left wondering when exactly she had succeeded in her mission.

When exactly she'd turned him from a monster into a decent man. A man who still made wrong choices, but felt regret, and sorrow, and didn't hide behind thick skin and tangled words. He was changing (had been changing for a long time, how had he just realized this?) for the better.

Only Belle could peer past the monster. Only Belle could reach past his defenses, yank out the man hiding behind them.

Maybe one day, that man could stand beside her.

He could never be worthy of Belle, never be the man she thought he was, but maybe, just maybe, one day, he could be something close.

* * *

The last thing Emma expected to see when she opened the door was Mrs. Gold holding a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like alcohol.

"Hello."

"Hey..." Emma wasn't too sure about the Missus, and really that was only because Isabelle's husband confused the hell out of her, and she was Sheriff now- she couldn't afford to be confused or thrown off by anyone. Especially someone as powerful as Gold.

"Is Mary Margaret here?"

Emma waved her in. "Yeah, she's in the kitchen."

Not for the first time, Emma was struck by how absolutely beautiful Isabelle was. Chocolate curls, bright blue eyes... she looked like a freaking Disney princess (and wouldn't that thought please Henry). The way she spoke, all classy and proper with her accent didn't really help, and she was entirely too nice to everyone, and god that train of thought just kept going.

"Izzy," Mary Margaret looked up from her baking sheet, the smell of chocolate chip cookies filling the air. "Want a cookie? They're not as good as yours, but they're chocolate."

"Remind me to give you my white chocolate and macadamia nut recipe." Isabelle took a cookie from the cooling rack. "But you can never go wrong with chocolate chip."

And now they were baking cookies. Were they _trying_ to act like princesses just to screw with her? Emma put her weirdness aside, plopping on the stool next to their guest, reaching for a cookie herself. Mary Margaret smacked her hand with a spatula.

"Those are hot," she scolded, handing Emma a cooled one. "You'll burn yourself."

And now Mary Margaret was acting like her mother, like the Snow White Henry was convinced she was (and wouldn't that be something mother's would do, scold and correct?).

Isabelle was smiling a bit too much for Emma's liking.

"What's that?" Emma asked, nodding to the bottle in Isabelle's hand.

"Rum. Would you like some?"

Mary Margaret eyed her friend, and for a minute Emma was pretty sure she was going to scold Isabelle too, but glasses were grabbed from the dish drainer and placed before them both. "At least it's not vodka," Mary Margaret said.

Isabelle laughed, pouring Emma a glass while Mary Margaret hunted for the diet coke in the fridge. "We'd need Ruby for that," Isabelle pointed out. Mary Margaret snorted, returning to the counter with a two liter in hand.

"I have to ask," she said as she poured. "Is this a random drinking binge or is this an I'm going to get drunk and then talk binge? Because if it's the latter, I'd rather avoid the hangover."

"Can it be both?"

Emma poured more rum in her glass. "This about your husband?" she asked. She'd heard about the fight they'd had after the fire, and though it had been over a week, she didn't think Gold was quite forgiven yet. Not that she could blame Isabelle. Hell, Emma herself hadn't put it behind her (though she'd been _in_ the fire and was entitled to be angry forever if she wanted), but the plan had been a pretty solid one, and she could admit that.

Isabelle nodded. She made a face at her glass, reaching for the rum. Drinking wasn't exactly princess-like behavior, and Emma banished curse thoughts from her head. Fighting with husbands was a real thing. Curses were not, and Emma could only focus on one at a time while drinking.

"Izzy, it is okay to be mad at him," Mary Margaret said, sipping her drink. "What he did was wrong."

"Yeah, but it worked." Emma shrugged when both women turned to her. "Sure, it was a sucky way to do things, but it got the job done." When she continued to be stared at, Emma rolled her eyes. "He obviously thought it through, and no one really got hurt, and in the end, his plan wasn't to hurt anyone, it was to get me to stand up to him so I'd be sheriff."

"It was a good plan," Isabelle admitted. "But it was a horrible thing to do."

Emma blinked, studying the woman before her. Isabelle was hurt, and a little pissed, but she was pissed for the right reasons. She was thinking too, Emma could almost see the gears turning, and she was conflicted. Good plan in theory, bad plan to be carried out, but in the end it had all worked out and the overall goal- Emma becoming Sheriff- had been reached.

"Didn't you say you'd worked up a punishment for him?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"He's been sleeping in the guest room," Isabelle confirmed. "And we haven't spoken since that night."

Emma winced. "That's gotta suck," she said, downing the last of her drink. "Living with someone but not talking to him? Hell of a punishment."

"I'm half afraid I'll yell at him again," the brunette admitted as she rubbed her forehead. "The other half of me is afraid I'll forgive him too easily. If we talk I'm not sure if I'll burst into tears or if I'll throw something at him or both. I want to forgive him, and part of me already has, but..."

Mary Margaret looked sympathetic, and really if anyone could understand feeling all of that at once, it would be her. Having feelings for a married man sucked, especially when it didn't work out. Emma didn't have the best track record with relationships herself (her last one landed her in _jail_), so she wasn't the best one to offer up advice, but she could sit and drink and maybe gain a new friend.

"But?"

"He needs to see for himself that what he did was wrong, without any influence from me." Isabelle blinked hard. "He has good in him, I know it's there, but he never uses it. Anger is easy, manipulation is easy, and it's all he knew how to do for the longest time."

"Do you think he'll ever be sorry?"

"That his plan worked? No." Isabelle studied her empty glass. "But he might regret putting people in danger, even if one of those people was Regina."

Emma stopped herself from laughing just in time, but the smirk couldn't be stopped. Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes, looking entirely too ready to scold her again.

"So your silence is partially so he'll think about what he's done without your influence?" Emma asked. "I thought he was the manipulative one."

"That and I want him to realize it hurts to be manipulated by someone you love."

"Yeah, but aren't you punishing yourself too? I mean, you guys see each other every day, and neither of you are talking to each other." Emma sat her drink aside. "God knows I'm not the best person to give relationship advice, but isn't talking normally the recommended course of action?"

Isabelle bit her lip. "I said my piece. He knows how I feel about what he did, and that's all I can do really. He knows where I stand, and now he has to figure out where he stands. I don't like it," she said quietly, "but if he's going to play this game, he has to understand what it's like to be the pawn."

A drinking, silently manipulative, very smart princess. If the curse _was_ real, Disney had it all completely wrong (and maybe Emma would have found princesses a bit less lame growing up).

They chatted for half an hour, not finishing the bottle because Emma and Mary Margaret had to get up in the morning, and Isabelle really didn't want to cry, not when she felt she was ready to talk to her husband again. She left with a smile and a wave, promising lunch with them both in the near future.

When the door shut, Emma turned to Mary Margaret. "If I ever get involved with anyone, ever," she said, voice flat and serious, "take my gun out of my holster, and shoot me with it."

Mary Margaret laughed. "One day you'll find someone that's worth it," she assured her, dumping the glasses in the sink.

Emma snorted. God she hoped not.

* * *

Belle was surprised to find Rumplestiltskin home when she arrived. It wasn't quite five, and normally he'd be at the shop still, but there he sat, facing her on the couch.

He looked as exhausted as she felt.

"Belle," he said, and it was the first thing they'd said to each other in days. "I'm sorry."

And there were the tears she hadn't wanted to shed, and Belle didn't know if they were relief or joy. Rumplestiltskin stood, looking unsure and sincere all at once, and then Belle was wrapping her arms around him, smiling and crying and sniffling into his shoulder.

"Me too," she whispered. "I'm sorry for the whole week, for not talking to you, everything, all of it. I yelled- I never yell." She held him tightly. "I was wrong to treat you like that. I'm sorry."

His arms folded around her, his hands shaking against her back, her neck, her hair and she smiled up at him. His hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs wiping her tears as he blinked away his own.

"Oh sweetheart," he sighed. "Yes, you should have. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to see past the lies I was telling myself." He kissed her forehead. "And on that note, I really shouldn't have-"

"Hush," she said, rising up on her toes to kiss him quickly. "You shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, and it's done now. I don't even think Emma is mad at you." She rested her head against his chest, felt his heart beating against her cheek. "We both made mistakes. Let's just put it behind us."

Belle could have said more, tried to soothe all their hurts with more words, offered up a thousand more apologies for her behavior, but Rumplestiltskin kissed her then, his mouth hungry and desperate against hers, one hand fisted in her hair, the other at the small of her back, pressing her closer. Belle melted against him, winding her arms around his neck, her fingers carding through his hair.

A week without kisses, without touch. They were starved for each other now, kissing each other like it would be the last time they could do so, hands and lips everywhere, gentle yet frenzied, the passion that had been tossed aside in favor of anger and hurt nearly consuming them both.

He shouldn't have hid his intentions, shouldn't have broken his promise, and he never should have put people's lives in danger to suit his needs. She'd had every right to be mad.

She shouldn't have used her silence as a weapon, shouldn't have avoided him for so long, shouldn't have yelled at him. He'd had every right to be hurt.

They were both sorry.

They were both forgiven.

And for the first time in over a week, they both got a good night's sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Belle hated her prescription pills. She had far too many of them, all of them needed, all rattling around in her purse because she had to take some every six to eight hours. The anti-anxiety pills were thankfully small, and the dosage tiny, but ever since her nightmares had come back, Archie had recommended switching to a different brand. Unfortunately the new brand caused insomnia, and Belle had to add sleeping pills to her pill box. At least the nightmares didn't bother her as much anymore, but now Belle had to fight to wake up every morning (she really needed to ask about less powerful sleeping medication- she was turning into Rumplestiltskin in the mornings).

There were also anti-depressants, taken every six hours, to help with the mood swings (which she hadn't realized were a problem until her last session at Doctor Hopper's, but it made her refusal to talk to Rumplestiltskin the month before suddenly make more sense). And Rumplestiltskin had prescriptions of his own, pain pills for his leg that he hated taking but obviously needed.

The only medication Belle didn't mind was her birth control, though her heart clenched every time she picked up her supply. She could get pregnant again, very easily, but they weren't about to take the chance of losing another child. Time was moving, but the curse was still active, and they had to be careful.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin were both on allergy medications as well- the ragweed in the spring reduced them both to sneezing, wheezing, sniffling messes with red noses, but they had a few months before those were needed.

Despite her view on them, all the pills were necessary, and so once a month Belle made the journey to the drug store, chatting with Doctor Clark as he filled her many orders. It was part of her routine as Isabelle Gold, something that needed to be done that also got her out of the house. She didn't trust Rumplestiltskin with the task anymore; last time he'd refused his pain pills and had suffered silently for a week before Belle and gone to get them herself.

Stubborn man.

But Belle enjoyed being out and about in town. She loved going grocery shopping- the only housewife she knew of that actually _enjoyed_ running errands. She usually went to the drug store last, arriving an hour or so before the store closed to avoid the lines, or causing others to wait behind her.

Naturally, when she popped in to get her refills this time, there were four people in line, and at least three others milling about, waiting for the line to go down. Out of things to do for the moment, Belle grabbed a basket and wandered through the aisles until the crowd dispersed.

She rounded the corner, reading the back of a book and not paying any attention, and collided with Ashley. The blonde yelped, trying to juggle Alexandra, her full basket, and her white prescription bag. The bag fell to the floor, the basket tipped, and Belle danced backwards to avoid squashing the bread.

"I'm so sorry," they said at the same time. Belle immediately dropped to her knees, gathering up what she could.

"Oh, your coffee spilled," Belle noticed, feeling horrible. Of course she'd run into someone who had their arms full. That was her life. "I'm sorry, you haven't paid for this already, have you?"

Ashley nodded, managing to scoop up the basket and keep Alexandra upright in her carrier. "Doctor Clark was out of bags, so I was just going to toss this all in the truck and make Sean carry it in." She sighed, the long suffering sound of a tired mother. "Geez, can anything else happen today?"

"Don't tempt fate," Belle advised. "It's still early." She took Ashley's basket, hooking it over her arm. "Let me buy you some more coffee. It's the least I can do."

For a moment she thought Ashley would refuse, the other woman hesitating for a split second before she nodded, a tiny smile on her face. "Thanks," she said, bouncing Alexandra when she began to fuss. "I tried to get all this done earlier, but the baby's been fussy with an ear infection."

"Oh, the poor thing. Is it bad?" Belle was dying to reach over and play with the blonde fuzz on Alexandra's head, but kept her hands still, picking up a new container of coffee instead.

Ashley shook her head, making shushing noises, rocking the baby with each step. It was a practiced move, the ease of learned grace, and Belle couldn't help but smile. She really was a wonderful mother. The role fit her to a T. She looked tired, but she was glowing and happy, and Belle was glad.

"Whale said these drops would help. Hush sweetie, it's okay."

They stood side by side in line, quietly watching Alexandra drift off in her mother's arms, exchanging timid smiles. They hadn't spoken since Alexandra's birth. Belle couldn't think of a way to approach Ashley without frightening her, even just to tell her she was forgiven.

In line at the drug store with a snuffling baby wasn't the time or the place, but Belle hoped Ashley knew everything was... not alright, but getting there, between them. They stood in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder, peering down at the small life asleep between them.

"She's beautiful," Belle murmured, giving in and running her fingertips gently over Alexandra's head.

"She looks like Sean," Ashley said with a fond smile. "We'll have to lock her up when she grows up, or we'll be beating the boys off with a stick."

"There you go, Mr. French," Doctor Clark said with a sneeze. "Anything else?"

Belle froze, spine stiffening at the sound of her father's voice telling Doctor Clark to have a good night. She hadn't realized he was even in the store, much less right in front of her, barely a foot from her. She could almost touch him (they hadn't been this close in years, had barely _seen_ each other in years).

He turned in slow motion as the world sped up around them, everything slow and somehow fast at the same time. Belle couldn't move, frozen to that spot, her feet suddenly made of lead and welded to the floor. Moe hadn't seen her either, had no idea his daughter was standing inches from him. His face was a picture of shock when he turned around, eyes going wide, mouth opening.

The both stood stock still, staring at each other, edgy and unsure, two wild creatures circling each other, hackles raised, trying to look fierce when really they were afraid.

It seemed like an eternity, a single moment stretched out forever before them. Moe blinked, looking her up and down quickly before sniffing and looking away. He straightened his jacket, patched and ill-fitting (Belle was in a designer coat Rumplestiltskin had bought her just yesterday, warm and wrapped perfectly around her and she suddenly felt expensive and fake).

Moe shook his head. Belle's heart was hammering. Would he say anything to her? Should she say something? Words climbed up her throat to die in her mouth. _Papa_, she wanted to call him. _Dad_, she wanted to say. Anything. Something.

"I see he still buys your favor with pretty baubles," Moe said, disgust oozing from him. "I thought you were better than that, but I've been wrong before." He tipped his hat to Ashley. "Miss Boyd."

He squared his shoulders, his eyes everywhere, hands fisted at his side as he left.

"You-" Ashley snarled.

"Can I help who's next?"

Ashley huffed and pulled Belle to the counter. "What a complete asshole," she muttered. She sat the coffee down, then turned and suddenly pulled Belle into a fierce hug. "It's okay, Izzy. Don't cry, it's okay."

Belle blinked, registering the hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm alright," she said.

"Liar."

Try as she might, Belle couldn't hold back the tears. She barely managed to thank Doctor Clark, just making it outside with Ashley before a sob escaped her. Alexandra began to wail, screaming into the cold air. Ashley tried to shush her child, keeping one arm firmly around Belle's shoulders.

"It's okay," she cooed, and Belle wondered who she was talking to, the infant or the grown woman, both crying, one from cold and one from a broken heart.

Magic always has a price, and the curse was vicious. Belle could have Rumplestiltskin, could kiss him, could live out her life with him. She had her friends, and she had her library, but her father couldn't stand the sight of her. He ignored her, and when he did speak to her, he aimed to hurt her, his words cutting through her like a knife, leaving her bleeding and battered.

The curse had given her a life with her true love, but it had taken her father's love and twisted it into something cold and cruel. And part of Belle had to wonder: when the curse was broken, when everyone remembered and knew, would Maurice have the same view as Moe?

Would her father cast her away again?

* * *

Moe's loan was due.

Actually it was _past_ due, and by about two weeks.

Rumplestiltskin had been giving the florist a bit of leeway (not much, he was still charging interest) in hopes that Moe would come around to deliver the money (he would have to see Belle, would have to talk to her), but after Belle had come home in tears, he called in the debt and went to collect his collateral.

The van wasn't worth nearly as much as the amount Moe owed, but it was all the man had, and so Rumplestiltskin waited until the flowers had been emptied from the back (he had no use for the overpriced blossoms, especially not when they came from Moe), and appeared to take the keys.

Moe cursed and shouted and bellowed, and it took everything Rumplestiltskin to walk away, to continue about his day. He managed to make it down the street without looking back, his hand so tight around his cane his fingers were numb. Everything dark in him screamed for him to turn around, to crack Moe upside the head, beat him into the ground and then make him grovel at Belle's feet.

But that wasn't what Belle wanted, and it would do no good, so Rumplestiltskin ignored his father-in-law in favor of continuing about his day.

Unfortunately his day consisted of sidestepping Regina, who he was not in the mood for (he really wasn't ever in the mood for her, and after everything that had happened, he _really_ very much did not want to talk to her), and who was apparently very determined to speak to him. But a not very polite 'please' got her out of his way, and he made it back to the shop without maiming anyone.

He decided to polish the silver for the rest of the afternoon to keep himself busy. It would give him something to do with his hands, and maybe he wouldn't give in to the urge to beat something. Or someone.

How dare that man.

Children were precious, the most valuable thing in all the words, the most horrible thing to lose (and that he knew better than anyone) and Moe had purposely hurt his own flesh and blood- his child, his child who was _Belle_- because he didn't approve of her husband.

No father could truly approve of a man, no matter how worthy, not when that man came to take away his daughter, and Rumplestiltskin knew that even as Mr. Gold he would never meet anyone's approval, much less an in-law's, but there were lines, damn it, and Moe hadn't just crossed them, he'd stomped all over them, watched as Belle withered and shrank before him.

Rumplestiltskin had told Belle that he would be collecting on her father's loan today (he wasn't about to keep _anything_ from her, not ever again). At first he'd wanted to take the flowers as well, smash their pretty little vases under his heel (so he needed to hit something, so what?), but Belle had talked him down, convinced him to take just the van instead, and begged him not to hurt Moe in any way.

Moe had made her cry, and she was pleading for his safety.

Her father didn't deserve a daughter like her.

But Rumplestiltskin didn't deserve her either, and so he did as she asked, locking the van away in the storage unit across town until he could decide what to do with it. He was sorely tempted to tear it apart, sell the metal and engine and send Moe the empty frame (and if that was cruel he didn't care; the man had reduced Belle to tears on _purpose_), but he resisted.

It could come in handy one day. For what, he had no idea, but he locked it up anyway. If nothing else, it made him feel a little better knowing Moe needed the van, but couldn't get it back until he paid Mr. Gold a large sum of money.

And that _was_ cruel.

And he still didn't care.

* * *

Emma knew things were gonna suck for a while. She couldn't see Henry, and that was bad enough, but the whole town also got to see her sucked into a giant mistake that exploded in her face in the worst possible way. She hadn't known that Regina was building a playground, and she still didn't know why had the money been hidden, but regardless of intentions she'd made a mistake, and now she had to lay low for a while.

Ruby was under the impression that laying low meant "come drinking with me and Ashley who is still underage but it'll be cool because you'll be off duty". Emma thought about going, turning a blind eye to a little girlish fun, but she didn't have it in her to be very cheerful, or to put up with Ruby trying to get her to loosen up (she meant well, but was a little much to handle at times).

She roped Mary Margaret into going in her place (really, her roommate needed to get out more, Emma could plainly see she was still pining after David) and had no problem retreating when her phone buzzed, the direct emergency line from the station getting patched through.

Her little yellow bug was still her car of choice, despite the patrol car that was now entirely hers, and she used it to investigate the open door at the Gold's place. Emma knew Mr. Gold was around town today- she'd seen him at the shop barely twenty minutes before she went to the diner- but Isabelle was unaccounted for, and Emma wanted to talk to her anyways, wanted to see if she could provide some insight of that husband of hers.

Really, the man was a puzzle wrapped in sarcasm and barbs to say the least, but he really did love Isabelle, and that was bewildering because, well, Isabelle was sweet and kind, and basically the total opposite of Gold.

It was confusing. Opposites attract and all that, but there was opposite and then there was 'holy crap are they even from the same planet?'. Emma put the Golds in the latter category. They made her head spin.

Emma didn't like when things were confusing. It was part of the reason why things sucked.

The other part would be going to investigate the open door on a might-be empty house and discovering the place tossed, everything ransacked, and Isabelle laying unconscious on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her head, dripping from an oozing wound above her eye.

"Mrs. Gold?" She had a pulse, she was breathing, but that was a _lot_ of blood, and Emma was slightly panicked (okay, more than slightly) at the sight of her friend like that. "Isabelle? Damn it, crap, okay... ambulance first, then I get to call your husband and tell him about this."

One hand on the still seeping wound, Emma snatched up her phone and called for an ambulance. She knew Isabelle was petrified of hospitals and she had no idea why, but there wasn't really a choice, and Emma would stay with her the entire time if she had to.

Gold was not going to like this.

And Emma knew her sucky day was not about to get any better.


	8. Chapter 8

**ATTENTION!  
**

I might (will probably) be late posting the next chapter. I haven't even started it because life and work and a_ hell of a lot of drama_ got in the way. I'm really sorry to leave you guys hanging like this. It kills me because I wanted to keep up regular updates, but that probably won't be possible until the drama dies down. Which might take a while.

I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME

* * *

There were many layers to people, and Emma had learned that the hard way. In the system she'd learned that layers could be peeled back or added on, and people could really be evil no matter how much they smiled. People could be weak no matter how thick they tried to make their skin. People could be your friend until they got what they wanted from you. People could abandon you, leave you, forget about you.

But there were good layers too, and not all people were liars and fakes. And people could smile and get hurt and be afraid no matter how evil you thought they were.

Storybrooke was full of layered people, and Emma was often left in shock when she saw some of the layers peel back.

Isabelle woke up as she was wheeled into her private room, and immediately became hysterical, something Emma had never thought she could ever be. Isabelle had always seemed so calm (minus that one time with the wolf spider that had crawled across her hand), smiling and laughing and playing with the children.

But now she was bleeding. And crying. And in the one place everyone knew she was petrified of.

There were tears, there was uneven breath, even uncontrolled thrashing so bad Emma had to hold her down. Isabelle was an inch away from a panic attack, and Whale didn't want to give her anything to calm her down until he was sure there was nothing more to her head injury than the (very deep and still bleeding) scrape.

Emma had been under the impression that Whale was one of Regina's puppets (and she was half right because he still reported back to her, but he didn't tell her some things and that counted for something), but it really said something about the doctor when he held Isabelle's hand and tried to calm her down with a soft voice rather than drugs and restraints.

Ruby burst into the room, an explosion of red against the white walls, and Emma had no idea how she was here already. She'd just put the word out barely five minutes ago. She couldn't get a hold of Gold, and people were staked out to try and find him. Mary Margaret was at the pawn shop, Ashley was headed over to his (crime-sealed) house, and Ruby was supposed to drive around town and try and spot his car.

But she was at the hospital instead, and Emma wanted to say something, but Ruby headed straight for Isabelle and ignored everything else- including the nurse trying to tell her she wasn't allowed in here.

"Izzy, Izzy, hey, breathe." Ruby took Isabelle's other hand, squeezed it hard. "You need to breathe- Izzy, honey, it's okay, it's going to be okay."

"I can't-" Isabelle tried. Her mouth opened but she took in no air, her body jerking as her lungs spasmed.

Emma raked her hands through her hair. What the hell should she do? Isabelle was panicking, they couldn't find her husband. Emma had no idea what had happened in the first place, and Isabelle sure as hell wasn't in any condition to talk at the moment. She was the sheriff- the supposed fucking savior- and she was freaking useless right now.

"You can," Ruby said firmly. "Just breathe."

"Richard-"

"He'll be here any minute. Breathe, Izzy- Belle." Ruby smoothed the curls down, grabbed her friend's chin, looked her dead in the eye. "_Belle_."

Isabelle gasped.

"Good. Again."

There were more tears, but Isabelle began to breathe, clutching her friend's hand.

Whale blew out a breath. "We need to get you into a CAT scan," he said gently.

Isabelle tensed. "I- I know." The heart monitor began to beep faster. "I... just..." Isabelle bit her lip. "Everything-"

"Shh, Belle, shh."

"-so much white and cold..."

Ruby studied Whale as she smoothed Isabelle's hair. "I'll be there with you," she said, and it wasn't a question. Whale barely hesitated before nodding, and Ruby smiled sweetly, voice all honey, her back ramrod straight and eyes pure diamond. "See? And the Sheriff will go track down your husband. It's all gonna be okay."

Emma managed to throw a weak smile in Isabelle's direction and marvel at Ruby's control over the situation before the door blew open.

The nurse turned. "You can't-"

"The hell I can't," a voice replied with a tremor.

Mr. Gold was many things. A lawyer. A ruthless landlord. A loan shark. He owned everything, had a hand in everything that happened in Storybrooke. Emma had heard rumors about his cane being an effective weapon, about his gun the one time someone had been stupid enough to pull a knife on him. Emma had not only heard many things about Mr. Gold, she'd seen- had experienced first hand- his manipulative nature, being a cog in his machine. She knew who he could be, what he had no trouble doing.

The man standing before her was known as a conniving, deceitful, spiteful, mean son of a bitch.

The man standing before her was none of the things.

He was just a man. A terrified one, a husband sick with worry. He shook like a leaf as he crossed the room. His face was so pale the walls looked bright. His hands were unsteady, hovering over Isabelle, afraid to touch her, to hurt her, but she reached for him, pulled him down and curled into him.

"Oh, god, are you alright- when I got the call- I was so scared Belle-"

Ruby and Whale stepped back to let husband and wife cling to each other with the illusion of privacy. Emma didn't know who was more afraid, who was shaking more, the mister or the missus. (No that was absolutely _not_ the feel of a heartstring being tugged. She was the Sheriff, the law, dammit, and she would not get all teary eyed over Gold being a freaking human being.)

(Crap.)

"It's okay, it's okay," Gold whispered, the corner of his forehead resting against Isabelle's, away from the wound but still close to her. "No one's going to hurt you sweetheart, I won't let them. You're safe, it's okay."

Ruby sagged against Emma, all her calm and control fading away, and then she started to shake too. "Can they just live their lives without all this shit for _once_?" she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

No one answered.

Emma had always known there was more to the story of the Golds, but she'd never been able to do more than scratch the surface of that particular tale. She knew the basics thanks to gossip, had been able to weed out the rumors from the facts, but that had taken months of casual asking around and comparing notes (and _after_ all the note taking did she discover Mary Margaret had been around for the whole thing and therefore knew _everything_).

She knew Isabelle had worked for Gold for almost two years before they started dating. They'd dated for nearly as long before Isabelle went missing, turned up months later (and Mary Margaret had reluctantly filled in a few blanks then, admitting to heading the rescue with Ruby), and she'd married Richard Gold the next year and- according to the town- lived happily ever after in her library.

But there was more to it than that. There something painful and dark that still hurt, even years later.

Emma wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"The rest is something you should ask them," Mary Margaret had said.

"And the rest is... really bad," Emma had guessed.

Mary Margaret had nodded, and there had been pain in her eyes then too, and entire story that wasn't hers to tell. "Worse."

Emma knew pain.

And she knew when people hid their pain, could see how much they were hurting when they tried to disguise it. And both the Golds were in agony.

"I'm here, my Belle," Mr. Gold promised. "I'm here."

Emma turned and stalked into the waiting room. All confusion and pain aside, a crime had been committed. As soon as Isabelle, or Izzy, or Belle, or whatever the hell she wanted to be called, was patched up, Emma would have to talk to her. Someone had broken in to Izzy's home, had ransacked the place, and hurt her in the process.

Izzy, the librarian who smiled and loaned Henry books. Izzy who shrieked and danced away from spiders. Izzy who had melted the heart of the infamous Mr. Gold. Izzy who didn't look like she could hurt a freaking fly.

Someone had _hurt_ her, and then left her.

Whoever that someone was, they were in a world of trouble. They had hurt Mr. Gold's wife.

They had hurt Emma's friend.

And Emma was going to show that someone why that was the absolute last thing anyone should ever do.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin held Belle's hand the entire time. He held it when Whale announced there was no head trauma, just a bad wound. He held it when she was given pain killers, kissing her knuckles when she flinched away from the IV. He held it when she was given eight stitches and a large white bandage.

He couldn't bring himself to let go.

Someone had broken into their home, had injured Belle, and it was his fault. It had to be someone angry about a loan, or a debt called in. Someone angry at Mr. Gold had hurt Belle. Belle, who never held grudges and loved everyone.

Someone had hurt the woman he loved because they were angry at him.

Rumplestiltskin was angry, was hurt, was terrified. Belle was his weakness, and everyone knew that. But Richard Gold was such a powerful man, such a bastard, had such a reputation, that Belle had been safe as his wife. Her wedding ring hadn't been the target he thought it would be. It had been a sign with great big flashing lights, spelling out one simple message: _mine_.

It usually worked.

But now there was another scar to add, another mark of pain. Above her left eye, to the left of the bandage, nearly hidden by her hair, was another mark, faded and white, barely there but you could find it if you looked for it. Falling from a ladder in this world had given her that scar. Marrying the man she loved had given her the other one.

"Richard...?" Belle murmured, shifting under the covers.

Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand. "I'm here," he whispered, bending to kiss her cheek.

Emma, sprawled in a chair on the other side of the bed, straightened, hands reaching for Belle. She hesitated, gently touching her fingertips to Belle's arm. "Hey," she said. "How're you feeling?"

Belle blinked, winced slightly. Her grip on Rumplestiltskin's hand tightened.

"I suppose you want to know what happened."

The corner of Emma's mouth twitched upwards (Charming smiled like that when he was unsure of something, and there it was on his daughter, his crooked little grin). "Yeah, I need to ask you a few questions, but it can wait if you're not up to it."

Rumplestiltskin was very interested to know who had dared to hurt Belle. What low-life scum thought putting his hands on a woman was a good idea. What absolute _idiot_ decided that hurting the librarian was the way to get their revenge on her husband. Her husband who was a monster but that didn't matter because they had hurt Belle, not him, and she was okay now but whoever had hurt her was _not going to be_ when he found them.

But Belle wouldn't want that.

So perhaps Rumplestiltskin would just go with the Sheriff and hope she used her gun, and then sue the miserable bastard for everything they had.

Yeah. That could work.

"Richard-"

Belle was crying. Rumplestiltskin tried to tamp down the panic that swamped him, told himself that he needed to be calm for Belle, needed to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of. Gently, careful not to touch the bandage, Rumplestiltskin ran his fingers through Belle's hair, pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"It's alright sweetheart," he promised. "I'm right here."

It was all he had. But it was enough.

"Promise me you won't hurt him," she begged. "Promise me you'll stay right here and you won't go looking for him."

She sounded so small, so afraid and helpless. Rumplestiltskin's heart stuttered and froze. Belle was brave, the bravest woman he'd ever met, and here she lay, clinging to him with tears in her eyes, terrified, and so afraid of what he would do. If he could soothe any of her fears, he would, and so he kissed her, slowly, eyes on hers.

"I promise."

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "No vigilante crap?"

"Let's just say I'm trusting you and karma to get the job done," Gold said airily, kissing Belle's fingers. "Bad things tend to happen to bad people, after all."

"Is that a threat?"

"Observation," he said cheekily, smirking down at his wife.

Belle huffed through her nose, an almost-laugh. But her lower lip trembled, her eyes were still wide and fearful, and Rumplestiltskin felt his mouth become grim and hard.

"Belle-"

"It was Moe French. He came into the house, I don't think he knew I was there. I scared him, and he scared me, and I fell backwards when he pushed me. It... it wasn't an accident." Her voice broke, but she made herself continue. "He _shoved_ me. Hard. I fell and hit my head... on-on the corner of the island in the kitchen, I think. I-I don't remember anything after that."

Rumplestiltskin had forgotten how to breathe.

"Did he say anything to you?" Emma asked. "Did you see what he was carrying when he left?"

"No. I...I don't think he knew I was home." Belle squeezed his hand, glancing up at him when he didn't move. "He took a lot of paintings, and dishes. I... he took our cup, Richard."

Rumplestiltskin found his voice buried beneath disbelief and anger (and so much guilt and blame and sorrow). "Your _father_ did this to you?" He'd reduced her to tears after speaking to her for the first time since she'd married and the next day he decided to rob her and physically assault her?

Her father, who'd loved her, who'd told the Dark One no, who'd tried to keep his daughter safe, shoved her around and left when she was bleeding.

Emma's head snapped up. "Moe French is your father?"

Belle was still watching him. "He was," she said softly. "When I married Richard, he disinherited me. Until last night we hadn't spoken in years."

Rumplestiltskin held Belle's hand between both of his, bowed his head over her arm and tried to breathe.

This was his fault.

If he hadn't taken the van Moe wouldn't have been so angry. He wouldn't have wanted revenge, and he wouldn't have robbed them. He wouldn't have set foot in their house, and he wouldn't have hurt Belle. Belle would be at home right now, baking cookies or reading, not in the hospital with stitches and blood.

Moe French might have shoved her, but Rumplestiltskin was just as responsible for the mark on Belle's skin.

"I'm sorry Belle," he gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"Gold, this isn't your fault-"

"Yes. It is." A flat statement of fact, no room for denials.

Emma's heart twisted.

Gold had more layers than anyone Emma had ever met. And she had to wonder, as she watched him hold Belle, how many of those layers were made up of heartache.

* * *

**ATTENTION!  
**

I might (will probably) be late posting the next chapter. I haven't even started it because life and work and a_ hell of a lot of drama_ got in the way. I'm really sorry to leave you guys hanging like this. It kills me because I wanted to keep up regular updates, but that probably won't be possible until the drama dies down. Which might take a while.

I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thank you for being patient guys! I had to carve out time to write this at three am, and there's no telling when I'll get the next chapter done, but I hope I won't leave everyone waiting so long. ENJOY AND THANK YOOOOOOOU!

* * *

He'd promised Belle he wouldn't go looking for Moe. Rumplestiltskin prided himself on keeping his deals, and- more importantly- his promises to his wife. So, because he didn't trust himself entirely on that promise, he'd stayed with Belle the entire time. Holding her hand when she shook, soothing her with long strokes of his fingers or hands down her back or arms. He only left with Emma informed them she needed an inventory of what had actually been taken, and that had taken a lot of convincing.

Rumplestiltskin had outright refused at first. He wasn't about to leave Belle alone in the place that still gave her nightmares. Belle had tried to tell him to go, but her eyes betrayed her, flashing with fear at the thought, and Rumplestiltskin stayed.

Ruby and Mary Margaret arrived shortly after, armed with a brush, some nail polish, entirely too much make up, a box of Granny's take out, and some bad news.

Belle had to stay the night for observation.

Neither of them were very happy with that idea.

"You go, do whatever you need to, grab some stuff from the house, and then stay with her tonight," Mary Margaret had suggested. "We'll stay with her until you get back, okay?"

The Dark One nearly had a fit, but composed himself in time (though not quickly enough, judging by Emma's quirked brow). Belle would need a few things from the house, and they both needed a change of clothes for the next day, so out he would go. It was necessary.

That didn't make it any easier.

"I'll be back before you know it," Rumplestiltskin assured Belle, his voice light and calm. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "I promise."

Emma was busy with her phone, pointedly looking away from Belle (who looked entirely too small and miserable despite the rainbow being painted on her nails) when he exited the room.

"Ready?"

"Let's get this over with."

Emma took a split second to acknowledge that Gold was very, tired, very weary, very worried, and very, very angry. The anger was directed away from everyone, but he would snap soon, and something would definitely explode in the aftermath. Not that she could blame him. She kind of wanted to kick Moe in the face.

But she was Sheriff. She wasn't allowed to physically harm people- even suspects- anymore.

But no one had said anything about cuffing them too tightly. That was a new one, and something she would thoroughly enjoy doing.

"Are we going to stand in the hall all day or are we going to get on with it?" Gold snarled, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Emma merely blinked. If he wanted to lash out at her that was fine. She was a big girl. She could take it, and would, happily, to avoid having Gold murdering and/or maiming anyone. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

There was something disconcerting about Gold being uneasy in his own home.

Gold slunk around town gracefully, power coiling in every inch of his being. People walked around him, or stopped entirely to wait until he'd passed, gaze on the pavement, no eye contact, and he seemed to relish the fact that he was feared (and it was odd, so odd, to know that this feared man was so fully loved, and loved in return).

And yet, watching him, Emma couldn't see any of that power, any of that intimidation in him.

Gold might have been the all-powerful loan shark/lawyer/owner of the town/god only knows what else, but the man packing a bag to stay overnight in the hospital... that was Richard, and suddenly there was a world of difference between the two. They had the same face, spoke with the same voice, and loved the same woman, but there was Richard, and there was Gold.

There were times that Gold was so predominate that Emma had to wonder if Richard was some kind of dream.

But there he was, carefully folding a nightgown into a suitcase, shoulders tense, eyes tired, entirely too focused on the task to really be paying any attention to it at all.

There was nothing Emma could say to him to comfort him. Worry and love went hand in hand, and Gold- Richard was not only worried, he was terrified. Occasionally his eyes would flash with temper, but he seemed to have a tight leash on the anger, forcing it away and giving Emma short, point blank answers.

"Anything missing in here?"

Richard shook his head. "I doubt he even came upstairs," he said, concentrating on latching the suitcase. "He found what he wanted in the first few rooms."

Emma thought of the empty paintings, and the shattered glass frames of the photographs, broken only on Richard's side (pictures of Belle had been untouched, but photos of the couple had been smashed until Richard's face couldn't be seen under the cracks). Moe hadn't come upstairs, but why? The office and the safe were on the second level, and there were entire rooms stuffed with nothing but valuable pawn items, pay dirt to a burglar.

"He wanted to hurt her," Richard said quietly, gaze focused on the window. "He took something that was ours, and ours alone."

"Valuable?"

"Only to us." He turned, eyes blank, to face her. "A tea cup, chipped at the rim. Belle dropped it her first day. This clumsy, nervous, brave, wonderful woman now in my life breaks a cup. And she's afraid of what I'll do to her- I could see it- but it was just a cup."

Just a cup then, something precious now. Emma felt her face harden. "I'll get it back," she promised him.

Richard's lips twitched. "Yes," he said. "I rather hope you do."

"I have to ask. Why now? Moe's relationship with Izzy obviously wasn't the greatest, but it had been years. Why suddenly rob the place, and then not even bother going for the expensive stuff upstairs?"

He had a theory on that, Emma could see it. Something gleamed in his eyes that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite blame, but was both. It was calculating and cold, and suddenly there was more Gold in this Richard, but it was a balance, like a color of well mixed paint. He was still the husband, still the loving man, but now he was the lawyer too, the power and the smarts stepping in to help.

"Last night, Moe's words cause Belle's tears. I don't know exactly what he said to her, but from what I could gather it wasn't good. She was... she was a wreck. Miss Boyd had to drive her home." Gold folded both his hands over his cane. It was a smooth, slow movement, but the centers of his nails began to bleach white as his grip tightened. "Hurting him would do no good, and I didn't fancy sitting in a cell, so I called in his overdue loan."

Emma wasn't the least bit surprised.

No, that was a lie.

"Overdue?" she asked. Gold never, _ever_ gave extra time on anything. An overdue loan was unheard of.

"He is my father-in-law."

The light bulb clicked on in Emma's mind. "You wanted him to deliver the money himself so he'd see Belle. Maybe talk, patch things up."

Gold's gaze hit the floor. "In hindsight, it was not my best idea."

(There went those stupid heartstrings again.)

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean this is your fault. No," she said when he started to speak. "No, Gold, no. I know you, remember? I know a lot of what you've done, and I've heard about a lot more. Hell, I've been in a fire because of you. So trust me when I say, with complete and total honesty: this is not, in any way, _at all_, your fault."

He stared at her for a full minute, lips parted slightly, the only sign of surprise on him. But Emma had surprised him. Hearing it from Belle was one thing, but hearing it from her was something else entirely. Emma never said things she didn't mean, and if she did, she apologized and explained later. Maybe much later, after she'd calmed down, but she still did it.

No one blamed Gold for this.

Gold thought he was responsible for the crumbled relationship with Belle and Moe, and he had tried to fix it. In a weird, roundabout way, but he'd tried.

And there it was- that good Belle talked about.

"Let's be off," he said. "I don't entirely trust Ruby with make up, and I especially don't trust her with make up around Belle."

Emma blinked, feeling her mouth curve. "Now there's a story."

"For a later date, perhaps."

A lawyer with a limp, a walking bank with interest and contracts and deadlines and deals, a husband, a lover, a man who couldn't care less about the missing paintings, who asked for a single teacup to be returned, who held his wife's hand when she flinched, who promised to let the law deal with someone he could- and would have- easily beat with his cane.

Emma hadn't been in Storybrooke very long, but she'd picked up a few things. The first and foremost being that Richard Gold was complicated, layered, and dangerous. And now Emma could add good to that list, carefully penciled in, surrounded by question marks, but there all the same.

* * *

The first thing he saw was David Nolan in the waiting room, taking lowly and rapidly, standing between someone and Mary Margaret, who was planted in front of Belle's door. The second thing he saw was exactly who David was talking to, who was trying to push his way forward, who David was trying to push away.

The third thing he saw was red.

David caught him before he could so much as raise his cane to cave in that empty shell Moe French called a head. Emma dove for Moe before he could move, Mary Margaret backing against the door, arms splayed as if she meant to catch whoever tried to get inside.

"I want to see my daughter," Moe demanded. "Let me see her."

"Oh, that is so not going to happen," Emma muttered, shoving him back into a chair.

"Let go of me," Rumplestiltskin demanded.

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"I just want to see Belle-"

"If you so much as look at her, I will be scraping you off my shoe, you sodding-"

"David get him away from this, now. Moe French you are under arrest for breaking and entering, burglary, assault and battery, and for really pissing me off. You have the right to remain silent-"

Moe had the right, but apparently lacked the ability.

"I will not go anywhere until I've seen my Belle."

David's arms trembled with the effort of holding Rumplestiltskin back. "Your Belle? Oh no, no, no, you've lost all rights to call her that, Mr. French. If you ever go _near_ Belle again-"

"Finish that sentence Gold and I'll have to consider it a threat."

"Threat?" Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "Oh, it's no threat dearie. A promise, that's what it is."

David pulled him back, arms locked tight. "You're not seeing Belle either," he informed the smaller man. "Not until you've calmed down."

Rumplestiltskin didn't think he'd ever calm down. Not unless he hit something. Infuriatingly, the only things available were David, which would get him arrested, and the coffee machine, which would break his hand. Maybe he could cane an intern. That's what they were there for, right?

Moe still had not grasped the 'silence' concept of his rights.

"You don't deserve her," he bellowed. "You monster, you stole her away from me."

Yes, he had.

"You know what? You're right. You're absolutely right, Mr. French." Everything seemed to stop. Moe froze in Emma's grip, the Sheriff herself pausing with her eyebrows raised. Whale and the staff had stopped, openly staring now at the scene. Rumplestiltskin strained against Charming's hold, for a moment, just a moment, wishing desperately he had his magic for the effect.

"I don't deserve Belle. I don't deserve any bit of love she has for me. But I've come to realize, Mr. French, that neither do you. The difference is I know this. You do not." He leaned forward, almost bowing to the past king, but the gesture was mocking. Rumplestiltskin bared his teeth. "Belle deserves much better than us, but we are what she has, and I thank every god imaginable that she lost her mind and fell in love with me. I try every day to be the man she deserves. I will never be that man, but I try." He straightened, staring unblinkingly at a stunned and furious Moe. "But let me be perfectly clear. If you ever hurt Belle again, I will put that man aside and be _every bit_ the monster you think I am."

A violent shrug loosened David's grip, and Rumplestiltskin stepped away.

"That one, Miss Swan," he calmly informed her, "that one was a threat."

It took a considerable amount of willpower to turn his back, to calmly gather the abandoned suitcase, primly straighten his suit, walk to Belle's room, and shut the door quietly behind him.

Promise kept.


	10. Chapter 10

"This isn't how I pictured our Valentine's day," Belle admitted. She accepted the rag Rumplestiltskin handed her and began to scrub Ruby's handiwork off her face.

"And how did you picture our day?" Rumplestiltskin asked, perching himself carefully beside her on the bed. Nights were long when spent in hospitals, and he had every intention of distracting Belle from their surroundings in whatever way he could. If she wanted to talk about the pointless holiday, then he'd listen.

Truth be told, though Rumplestiltskin found the entire day ridiculous, he had been looking forward to having a reason to shower Belle with gifts and be silly with love without anyone thinking it strange. The day was for romantics and fools, and Rumplestiltskin was both when it came to his wife (though he readily admitted to falling into the latter category more often than not).

Belle had been planning something as well, judging by the mess the kitchen had been in, but he didn't mention that.

"I was going to try and convince you to stay when you came home for lunch." Belle scrubbed at her lips, smearing the dark lipstick across her chin. "I wasn't sure how to convince you, but I had a few ideas that might have worked."

"Sweetheart, if you'd wanted me home, all you had to do was ask." He would have happily spent the entire day with her. And maybe they would have stayed home, all day, and gone nowhere else.

"That wouldn't have been as fun."

Chuckling, he plucked the rag from her hand and leaned in. "Come here," he instructed. "Let's get this off you."

"You don't like it?" Belle mock pouted as the too dark blush on her cheeks was washed away. "Ruby said I looked beautiful."

"Love, you could cover your face in soot and dance around in a burlap sack and you'd still look beautiful." He stole a quick kiss, dabbing gently under her eyes to remove the dark eyeliner. "But then again I am a little biased. Ah," he breathed. "There you are."

Her hands caught his shirt and hauled him back down for a proper kiss, ignoring the dizziness that swept her. It was a common side effect of kissing her husband, and Belle paid it no mind.

"Now, if you'd greeted me like that, I would have done anything you asked."

Belle giggled. "That was the plan. I would have been entirely put out if you hadn't cooperated." Because her head was still spinning, she reclined onto the bed, wiggling over when he stretched out next to her.

He'd shed his jacket and loosened his tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his cuffs flapping and pushed up his arms. He was wearing the polka dotted socks she'd gotten him for Christmas last year, black with neon bright colors splashed throughout. She could feel his wedding ring against her skin when he began to comb through her hair.

She loved every inch of him. She loved him a bit more every day.

Today should have been a day to show him that. Belle had planned to cook his favorite dish, to have him stay home with her, content to just curl up beside him, feel him around her, knowing he was hers.

"At least you're here," she said drowsily, all but purring at the feeling of his hands in her hair.

"Hm?"

"I wanted to spend the day with you, and you're here."

Rumplestiltskin trembled. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I'm here."

He would be nowhere else until she was safe (and that would take work and changed locks and new keys because their home was not safe anymore, her blood on the floors, their haven trashed and wrecked because of one man's anger).

But he was here.

And he held her tight as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He hadn't thought it would be possible for Belle to sleep, much less him, but sleep they did. Rumplestiltskin's eyes opened to see Emma leaning patiently against the wall, tapping out messages on her phone.

"Sheriff Swan," he greeted, wondering how long he'd slept. Belle was still asleep, her head was pillowed on his arm. She held tight to the arm wrapped around her shoulders, effectively pinning him, so he didn't move. "You have news?"

Emma nodded, tucking her phone into her pocket. "Recovered your stuff. Most of it anyway. And Moe confessed, sort of."

Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure how someone could sort of confess to a crime, but he'd take it. Moe French would be locked up for a while, and not allowed anywhere near any of Gold's establishments. He was tempted to file a restraining order, but Belle would never agree to that.

Hurt as she may be, physically as well as emotionally, Belle would eventually forgive her father. Rumplestiltskin had no doubt about that. She was full of love, and forgiveness for those she loved- he knew that better than anyone. Though he would never forgive Moe, Belle eventually would, and maybe, one day, all would be right in her world.

Rumplestiltskin hated Moe (he never had before, but hurting Belle had caused his mild irritation to blossom into total rage), but he could hope, for his wife's sake, that the other man would realize what an absolute fool he'd been, and come crawling back to beg forgiveness.

But it couldn't hurt to make Moe nervous in the meantime.

"He did a lot of shouting, claiming what he did was justified. Half the yelling was him claiming he'd done nothing wrong and the other half was him demanding that I 'free Belle from her beast of a husband'."

"He calls her Belle now," Rumplestiltskin noted. "It used to be Izzy." He wasn't sure if it was a step in the right direction or desperation on Moe's part (because he was desperate, that much was certain, and he was a fool as well), or maybe some part of Moe was remembering. Belle hardly answered to Izzy anymore, to the point that even Ruby had begun to abandon the nickname.

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin attempted to sit up, lips curving fondly when Belle snuffled out a protest, nuzzling his arm as she burrowed into him. "I suppose he needs a lawyer." Emma's look was equal parts bafflement and sarcasm (and a tiny bit soft when her gaze landed on Belle). "I am the only one in town," he pointed out.

"Of course you are," she muttered.

"It's his right to hear from an attorney," Rumplestiltskin reminded her. Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to hurt him, not physically. But there will be a new way to his life, and that way will not include Belle. He is not to set foot in the library, the shop, or our house. If he sees Belle in a store, or the dinner, he does not go in. He will pay all the money back he owes me, and he will pay for any damages to any of the objects he stole, and then he will stay away from us both."

"What makes you think he'll agree to all that?"

"There are perks to being the most terrifying person in town. Those are my conditions, and it's either that or a very long jail sentence."

The most terrifying person in town rested his chin on his wife's shoulder, smoothing his hand over her flyaway curls. "I believe you said you recovered most of the stolen goods?" He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what hadn't been recovered, and the thought made him want to take his payment out of Moe's skin.

At times like this, Rumplestiltskin was very glad he didn't have his magic anymore. He didn't want to be that monster, not ever again, and he wasn't strong enough to resist falling back to his old ways should magic ever become available to him.

"Everything on the list was recovered," Emma began, fishing the paper out of her pocket. "Nothing was really damaged, but that cup you mentioned... he- Moe didn't have it."

Rumplestiltskin shut his eyes, burying his face in Belle's hair for a brief second. That would hurt her more than anything.

"Our tax dollars hard at work," he muttered.

"Hey, I got ninety-nine percent of it back in less than a day, _and_ arrested the guy who did it."

"Yes, yes, fine job Sheriff Swan. Would you like a pat on the head?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You're not gonna be like this when Belle wakes up, are you? I'll sic Mary Margaret on you faster than you can say 'deal'."

Oddly, the threat made Rumplestiltskin want to laugh, even as he realized what a legitimate threat it was. He gave Emma a tired smile. "I'll be on my best behavior once we're out of here," he assured her.

"Hospitals make you tense?"

"Hospitals with Belle in them make me tense."

The sound of heels clacking down the hallway had them glancing at the doorway just in time to see Regina fill it. Before Rumplestiltskin could demand that she leave, Henry crept into the room, face solemn and worried.

Uneasy at the thought of Regina being in the same room as Belle, much less being there when Belle was unconscious, Rumplestiltskin freed his arm enough to prop himself up on his elbow, pinning the queen under a level stare.

"Henry what are you doing here?" Emma asked, reaching out to straighten his collar.

"He wanted to check on Mrs. Gold," Regina informed them, striding into the room herself. "I brought him personally. I was worried about our librarian myself."

"How sweet," Rumplestiltskin said flatly, but because Henry was there, and looked a little pale, eyes watering slightly when he glanced at Belle, he smiled at the boy. "She'll be glad you came by."

Henry gave him a shy smile as he dug into his backpack. "I brought her a book," he said. "I know she likes to read and I thought it might distract her." He handed the book, a dog eared copy of _Island of the Blue Dolphins_, to Rumplestiltskin. "You know, since she doesn't like hospitals."

"I'm not fond of them myself." Rumplestiltskin placed the book carefully on the table beside the bed. "Thank you Henry. I'll make sure she gets it."

Henry beamed.

"Miss Swan, I'm giving you thirty minutes with Henry," Regina announced. "Take him out and buy him ice cream."

Emma hesitated, eyeing Regina suspiciously, one hand on Henry's shoulder. She glanced at Rumplestiltskin, who shrugged. "Bit cold for ice cream," he said amicably, "but that's what they have hot fudge sundaes for."

Emma gave him a look, and for a second Rumplestiltskin thought she would stay, but she grabbed her coat and hustled quickly out the door, Henry in tow. She deserved time with her son, and she couldn't do much more to help him now. This between him and Regina.

Rumplestiltskin knew why the Queen had come calling.

"You must have wanted that chat very badly."

Regina spread her hands. "I thought we should talk," she said, sitting gracefully in the standard issue straight backed hospital chair. Rumplestiltskin forced himself not to tense when she reached for Belle, brushing her hair aside to see the bandage. "Oh, that looks nasty. Stitches?"

"Eight."

Regina's sympathy was convincing, but he wasn't fooled.

"You have it then?"

"Perhaps." Regina folded her hands primly in her lap, eyes gliding over Belle's face before turning back to him. "I do, however, have a question."

"Must be an important question if you went through all this trouble just to ask it."

Regina smiled, white teeth against red lips. "I don't know what you mean. I simply came to check on your wife and found you here. Two birds with one stone."

Rumplestiltskin's blood began to boil. "Of course."

A please would make her leave, could get her gone, but until she asked her bloody question, she would keep coming back, keep butting in to his life. Into Belle's.

"Who are you?"

Rumplestiltskin nearly laughed. "Have we not met?" he asked. "I'm Mr. Gold, though my wife calls me Richard. I'd prefer if you didn't." He raised at brow at her. "All that trouble and that's the question you ask me?"

"That's not what I meant," Regina purred. "I want your name."

"It's Richard Gold."

"Your _real_ name."

Rumplestiltskin smiled then, because she didn't know, wasn't sure, and had been forced to ask him. Maybe she was playing a game, maybe she wanted to see if he remembered, but his apprentice was still coming to him. She would need help in the future, should Emma decided to stay in Henry's life. Mr. Gold would not be as useful as Rumplestiltskin, and Regina wanted to know what he knew.

The Evil Queen relied entirely too much on others, and one day it would cost her.

Because Rumplestiltskin would not help her, not anymore. He had no use for her, and he had no doubt she had arranged this mess when he'd snubbed her in the street. He would get want he wanted back, and then be done with her. He was here to find his son, and that was all. He was done playing Regina's games.

"My name," he said quietly, voice low and sharp, "is Rumplestiltskin."

Regina smiled, unzipping her purse. "Does your wife know?"

His spine became ramrod straight. "Does Belle know what?" he asked easily, plucking the cup- _their_ cup- carefully from her uncaring hands. "The curse married us," he reminded her. "You chose the lives the people in this town led, even Belle."

"She wasn't part of our deal."

"No, but she was part of mine once." Rumplestiltskin cradled the cup carefully, eyes on Regina. "Magic comes with a price, dearie, and this time you're going to be the one to pay it."

Regina snarled to her feet. "We'll see about that." She stalked out of the room, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone to slump against the mattress, wife curled against his arm, their cup safe in his hand. He took a moment to breathe and wish he'd never had to make the curse, to wish he could have crossed with Bae, had never left his son.

But then he wouldn't have Belle. She would have been forced to marry Gaston, lived unhappily as she fulfilled her duties, and died a lonely woman in an unloving marriage.

He would find Bae, and Belle would be with him every step of the way.

But first they had to work around Regina, who would expect certain things from The Dark One now. Rumplestiltskin sighed, draping himself over Belle once more. He had no doubt things were about to get interesting in Storybrooke.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I have a "severely strain lumbar region" and am out of work for two weeks and highly doped up on meds. Ouch. Anyways, this is when I start going "canon timeline? WHAT canon timeline? Muwahaha" so hold on tight.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin was worried.

When he'd become the Dark One, he'd never really worried about much. He'd never had to. Magic had crackled between his hands, power rolled inside him, so much power a single look was enough to quell all of his once feared enemies. When he let go of Bae, he didn't worry. He raged, he searched, and he plotted (and he mourned, briefly, quietly, in his big empty castle, and cursed himself to never sleep again until he knew Bae was safe).

But he wasn't the Dark One. He was Richard Gold, pawn shop owner, landlord, lawyer, husband of one Isabelle Gold, and there was no magic in Storybrooke.

And Rumplestiltskin was worried.

He worried about a lot of things in Storybrooke. He worried about Belle most of all. What if Regina found out she remembered? What would she do? Belle had survived capture and imprisonment (both times entirely his fault- he knew the truth no matter what Belle said), but the hospital still made her shake. She could go in and get out without a panic attack so long as someone, preferably him, went with her.

Regina knew he remembered now, so Rumplestiltskin worried about her as well. Not for her safety or well-being, no he couldn't care less about that. He worried what she expected of him, and she did expect several things. Regina wanted Emma out of town, away from Henry. Naturally, Rumplestiltskin did everything in his power to make Emma stay (and on that note, he _really_ worried about Emma deciding to take off after all, leaving them all trapped and him quite without his son).

Time passed, slowly or entirely too fast depending on the situation or day. Too fast when Belle had to go back to the hospital, too slow when they were in that retched place, forced to sit and stay still and not move away from the nurses with the scissors and needles, Belle's hand shaking in his the entire time.

One day her brave veneer would crack, and not even Rumplestiltskin would be able to gather her up.

He especially worried about that. The day his love, no matter how strong, no matter how hard his pitiful heart beat, would not be enough.

Rumplestiltskin had never been a religious man. He'd never believed in higher beings as a spinner, and the Dark One had sneered at the thought of anything more powerful than him. But now he prayed every night (a plea, a wish, a thought, a hope, a dream sent out into the heavens just in case there was anyone listening) that day would never come.

For now, he worried and fretted and feared and tried his damnedest not to let Belle see.

She did anyway.

Belle saw right through him, like always, because she was Belle, and she knew him. And despite knowing him, despite everything he'd told her- and he had told her everything- she loved him. That in itself was a miracle he'd never been able to understand, would never comprehend (that he loved her was nothing short of selfish, but he'd never claimed to be otherwise).

So he continued to worry, because that was what he did, and Belle continued to see right through him, because that was what she did, and Rumplestiltskin watched time pass and wished, and hoped, and prayed that it would slow, just for a moment- the exact moment Belle curled up next to him in bed, her arm draped across his middle, his arm snug against her hips. Those were the impossible moments, the flickers of light in his life that had him convinced he was dreaming and would soon wake to find himself in his castle, alone, spinning silently at his wheel.

But time marched forward, Emma stayed, and Belle kissed him every morning, and Rumplestiltskin wished for magic, a spell to freeze time into eternity to spend with his Belle (the most selfish of wishes, but love was selfish, and so was he).

Storybrooke was shaken by scandal, leaving Belle wide eyed and frightened at Kathryn (Princess Abigail) suddenly disappearing. She was fierce in the defense of Mary Margaret, and the wiser townspeople knew better than to mention anything while Mrs. Gold was lurking about (she was getting very good at lurking- he must have rubbed off on her). But people talked, as they always did, and soon Mary Margaret and David fell apart, and Mary Margaret was cleared through no small effort on Gold's part and largely due to lack of other evidence and Kathryn not actually being dead.

Regina had wanted Rumplestiltskin to help her frame the school teacher, but Gold would forever be in Mary Margaret's debt, and so he helped her instead.

Regina was not pleased when she realized that and continued to paint vulgarity on the teacher's car. Juvenile pranks were better than murder, but Rumplestiltskin kept a close eye on the Mayor, lest she lose her head, and another close eye on the August Booth that had appeared in town.

In the middle of all that, Henry decided to buy Mary Margaret a gift.

"You know, since she didn't kill that lady."

Rumplestiltskin's mouth curved without him telling it to do so. "A fine idea," he announced. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

Perhaps Belle was rubbing off on him as well, because Henry not only left the shop with a gift for his teacher, he left with Rumplestiltskin as well, a steady stream of chatter between the two (and he had no idea how it happened, but it did without explanation... at least not one he could come up with).

"How long have you and Belle been married?" Henry asked, flipping up his hood against the rain.

Rumplestiltskin shifted his umbrella to cover Henry's backpack. "Five years," he said, and according to the curse it was true. Time was a funny thing in Storybrooke. It was hard to keep up sometimes.

"You smile when you talk about her."

"I do?"

Henry grinned, a large dopey grin. "Yup. And you get all... glowy? And soft around your eyes. Is that supposed to happen?"

Love through the eyes of a ten year old was a marvelous thing indeed. All the emotions and heartaches and blunders and missteps suddenly didn't matter when a child catches you smiling as a name rolls off your tongue.

"Only when you're in love. However, the glowing doesn't happen until you're married."

Henry blinked, mouth scrunched as he considered that (something familiar in that motion, a dusty memory shifting in the back of his mind). "What's the difference between being in love and being married?" he asked.

"You're supposed to be in love when you get married," Rumplestiltskin pointed out, raising the umbrella in a brief salute to Archie, Pongo trotting happily at his side.

"Yeah, but not everyone does it right."

"True enough."

They paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn and the cars to pass. Someone honked, Mrs. Gladstone- she might have been the old woman who lived in the shoe, Rumplestiltskin wasn't quite sure- taking entirely too long to realize the light was green, car immobile.

"Why the all the questions about love, Henry? Have your eye on someone yourself?"

Henry's face screwed up in so much pre-adolescent horror that Rumplestiltskin found himself laughing. A very eloquent 'no' screamed without a word being spoken. They crossed the road together, Mrs. Gladstone apparently deciding to sit through the green and yellow lights.

"I was just curious," the boy insisted. "I mean, you're kinda mean sometimes, but it's nice to know that anyone can find love."

Rumplestiltskin exaggerated a look of hurt. "Mean? Who on this earth calls me mean?" Henry glanced up with a bland look. "I'm terrifying."

Henry grinned.

Time jerked, the moment stretching long and thin. The rain slowed, the drops warping and distorting the shape of Mrs. Gladstone's tank-like car plowing through the red light, the gas hit so suddenly that the entire car leapt forward, nearly clipping the curb before she yanked the wheel. Her heavy car fishtailed, the back end gliding across the gathered water on the street.

Rumplestiltskin had a split second to react, shoving Henry away, towards the safety of the sidewalk.

Then there was pain.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Henry landed hard, his backpack exploding against the concrete, candy bars and books mixed with the rain. His hands throbbed, scrapes and scratches covering his palms, stinging when the rain hit the open wounds. His head had collided with the soft material bunched up around his shoulders rather than the hard ground, a pillow made of nylon. He sat up quickly, shedding his backpack as he stood.

"Mr. Gold?" he called.

The umbrella swayed in the wind, the fabric caught against a tail light. There was no answer.

Mrs. Gladstone cursed. "Did I hit something?" she demanded. "Tell me, boy. What did I hit?"

"-on Main Street, I think the driver hit some- Henry?!"

Henry began to shake, barely registering David tearing out of a neighboring shop to kneel in front of him, his phone against his ear. "Are you alright?" he demanded. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Mr. Gold- he was right there- he pushed me away- where's Mr. Gold?!"

David blinked at him, whipping around to face the street. "Oh no."

Henry didn't like it when adults said that. It meant bad things were happening.

"He's not hit," David said into the phone. "I think Gold- call for an ambulance."

Emma arrived barely a minute after David hung up, red jacket and badge and all, and there were frantic questions("Are you alright"s ran into "What happend"s and he couldn't make his voice work, couldn't answer) and an order for David to call Regina as she ran to the other side of the car, where Henry couldn't see.

Emma knelt in a puddle, barking frantic orders as Archie dropped Pongo's leash, rushing over to help. David kept Henry away from everything with a hand on his shoulder. Kept him away from where the water was tinted dark and Mr. Gold's umbrella hung against the bumper.

Henry didn't want to see what was happening. He was too afraid to know, but Mr. Gold was hurt, but he had to be okay, he just had to be.

Regina arrived just as the ambulance did, soaked and out of breath, one shoe missing, lying alone down the block. "Henry! Henry are you-"

"Is he dead?" Henry clutched David's hand from Regina's arms. Dave was standing, he could see over the, and Henry still didn't want to know but he had to. "Is- is he dead?"

David swallowed. "No," he said. "No, but he is hurt, so we need to leave the Sheriff handle this, okay?"

Regina turned, an arc of water dripping from her hair when she spun. She could see Emma kneeling, hands red, pressing against a leg, Archie's hands (it had to be Archie- there was Pongo sitting patiently across the street) gripping smaller ones.

She knew those hands, had seen those hands mix spells and wave about and clutch a cane.

He'd saved Henry.

"Someone get his wife," she ordered. Mayor Mills turned to the crowd that had gathered, eyes sweeping over the faces. Widow Lucas peered down at her, glasses perched on the end of her nose. "Mr. Gold was hit," she said (and her voice shook every so slightly because it could have been Henry). "His wife should be informed."

Ruby took off at full speed towards the library.

Henry shivered and clutched Regina's jacket. "Did I kill him? Did I kill Mr. Gold?" he sobbed.

"Oh. Oh, no, no baby." Regina knelt before her son, mud oozing onto her knees. "This was not your fault, okay?" She hugged Henry hard, eyes locking with David's. "He'll be fine."

The Dark One could have shaken that off, but this was not the Enchanted Forest, this was Storybrooke, and he was Richard Gold. Time moved forward, and there was no magic in sight, no instant cure to make her son stop crying, to close wounds or heal scrapes.

So Mayor Mills rose from the muck, her son at her side, and did what the other concerned citizens did- she went to the hospital to wait.

* * *

Belle was absolutely sick of the white walls, the intercom announcing and paging, the same voices over and over, a broken record on repeat. She was sick and tired of being in those walls that expanded too large around her while people crowded, of having to hear those repeated voices, of the terror that clawed at her every time she stepped through those doors.

And she'd stepped through those doors entirely too much for her liking now.

And she'd rather like to stop crying, but the tears refused to cooperate.

Rumplestiltskin was hurt again, and again she could do nothing but sit and wait, confined in those white walls.

Ruby sat beside her, a hand firmly in hers to prevent her from shredding yet another tissue. Emma sat on the other side, slumped in her chair, eyes dead ahead, glued on the door none of them- not the Sheriff or the Mayor or even the wife- were allowed behind. Henry was slumped against her, head on her shoulder, a bandaged hand on the far armrest, covered by Regina's.

Belle could feel Mary Margaret sitting in the chair behind her, her head occasionally bumping against Belle's as she glanced up to watch the people pass. Archie sat awkwardly between her and David, Pongo perfectly still at his feet (he wasn't supposed to be allowed in, but no one had mentioned it), his tail thumping against Belle's foot.

Henry's breath caught, effectively stilling everyone. Belle reached over Emma to brush the top of his head, fingertips across still wet hair.

"Are you al-" she tried. Her voice was like sand against her throat. Two syllables proved to be too much at once and she had to clear her throat and try again. "Are you alright, Henry?"

Henry's head shot up, connecting with Emma's jaw.

"Ow. Geez."

"I'm sorry, Belle, I didn't mean- we were in the street and he pushed me and got hit-"

Belle stood, confetti made from torn tissues raining down from her lap to collect on the floor. Pongo snapped at them absently, rolling onto his back to watch the nice lady who gave him belly rubs yank the small boy into her arms.

"I'm just so glad you're okay. And he will be too."

Henry hugged her, his face burrowing into her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Belle whispered, kissing the top of his head. "Nothing at all."

"Mrs. Gold?"

Belle turned so fast Emma had to steady her to keep her upright.

"Yes. Richard, is he-"

An eternity was spent in a single second, the universe imploding and piecing back together before the hands on the clock could move.

Whale smiled softly. "He's sore, banged up, and very grumpy," he announced. "But Mr. Gold is just fine."

Someone hugged her, and it couldn't have been Henry because he was wrapped around her waist, but all Belle remembered after world righted itself was being led through the door, her shaking legs somehow holding her upright (or maybe that had been Whale's gentle hand at her back), guiding her through the maze of endless white.

His leg was in a cast from ankle to knee. There was a small mark on his cheek, tiny and red. He was littered with bandages, small ones to cover scrapes and scratches on his elbows and hands.

His eyes were open.

"Belle."

And then she was in his arms.

"Is Henry-"

"He's fine, he's fine." Belle brushed her tears aside to study him. Bruised and broken but alive and whole. "Oh, god, look at you," she sniffed.

Rumplestiltskin winced. "Yes, I certainly won't be winning any beauty contests soon." His hands tightened around her arms, pulling her down to him. "Come here, love. I'm alright, I promise."

With Belle snug against him, her weight settling across him her fingertips gently smoothing down the front of his hospital gown, her toes gently touching the cast around his leg (his right leg of course, because fate liked to imagine it had a sense of humor), Rumplestiltskin had never felt better.

And he fervently wished for a way to preserve memories as people spilled through the door, people who wanted to know he was okay, who had worried about him (_him_, whether he be Richard or Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One or the pawnbroker, they still worried).

Rumplestiltskin untangled an arm from Belle to grasp Henry's shoulder, folding around the boy when his lip began to tremble.

"Hey now," he breathed. "It's alright now, Henry. All is well."

"I thought I'd killed you. I'm glad I didn't," Henry mumbled.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. "I'm tougher than I look," he assured. "Belle's been on me for years to get my ankle fixed anyways, so no harm done."

Belle poked him hard in the chest.

"If you ever scare me like that again I will kill you," she threatened waterly.

He smiled and ran his thumb along her jaw, wiping a stray tear with a kiss. "Duly noted, love. Duly noted."

* * *

**A/N:** Warned you guys in the summary- entirely too many hospital visits! *flees into the night*


	12. Chapter 12

Henry was pretty sure his mom was going to kill him.

He didn't know _which_ mom would kill him, but if either of them found out where he'd disappeared to when he was supposed to be returning his library books, he knew he was going to be in big trouble. Maybe by both of them.

But really, it wasn't his fault. He did go by the library, but it hadn't been open. He'd even waited for like, twenty minutes, but Mrs. Gold hadn't shown up.

So Henry got on his bike- the one he'd begged and begged and pleaded and ate all his vegetables for until Regina had given up and bought it for him- and crossed town, looking both ways twice before he crossed any streets, waiting for any and all cars to either stop or go, and peddled to the Gold's house.

Henry wasn't sure why he wasn't ever supposed to be there (one of Regina's rules that Did Not Make Sense), because even though Mr. Gold was kinda scary... and mean... and sometimes a bully... he wasn't all that bad. Plus he'd saved Henry from getting hit by that car, so that had to count for something.

Plus if his mom asked, he wouldn't have to lie, because technically, he did go to the library, and if Mrs. Gold was home, he could even say that, yes, he _had_ returned his books.

Still, Henry was a little nervous when he knocked on the door. But he wanted to talk to Mr. Gold anyways.

Emma still didn't really believe in the curse, but she was starting to ask some questions, and Operation Cobra was still a go, so there was a chance. And if there was a chance, Henry had some work to do. Because even though he'd read that book Miss Blanchard had given him like one hundred times, he still didn't know who Mr. Gold was.

Henry didn't know who a lot of people in town were, but someone as important as Mr. Gold _had_ to have a story in the book somewhere. But so far, no one fit. David was Prince Charming, and Miss Blanchard was Snow White, but they weren't even talking to each other, and Emma had told him to leave them alone in that voice that made him listen, even though he really didn't want to (they were his grandparents, whether they remembered or not, and they belonged together).

Ruby was Red Riding Hood (that had been way easy to figure out, but that also meant she was a werewolf too, which was _so_ cool, and also explained all the red). Archie was Jiminy Cricket, and Marco was Geppetto, and Henry thought it was great that they were friends here. Pongo... was Pongo, but Henry wondered where Perdita was, and all the puppies they were supposed to have.

"Henry, hello!"

Mrs. Gold was really pretty. Henry grinned up at her, because he knew who she was too. Her name gave it all away. Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, but that story wasn't in the book, and even though Mr. Gold sometimes wasn't nice, he wasn't a beast. Besides, beasts wouldn't have gotten hit by a car so a little boy didn't have to.

"Hi! I have books to turn in, but the library's closed."

Mrs. Gold smiled in a way that made Henry's grin get even bigger. "Well, it's a good thing you know where the Librarian lives, otherwise you'd have overdue books." She stepped back, opening the door wide. "Come on in. See if you can get grumpy Mr. Gold to behave."

"How did you know I wanted to see Mr. Gold?" Henry asked. He wiped his feet out of habit. It was rainy and his shoes were muddy, and the house was really clean. He didn't wanna mess it up and have the Golds mad at him.

Mrs. Gold winked at him. "I guessed. Want some cookies? I just made a batch."

"Good guess, Mrs. Gold."

Mrs. Gold laughed. "Call me Belle. Richard's in the bedroom, right through that door there. I'll be right back with your cookies."

Henry made his way through the house (which was really big, almost as big as his house, even though it didn't look it from the outside). He wondered how Mr. Gold was doing with a cast and being cooped up all the time until the cast came off in a few weeks.

Mr. Gold was propped up with a bunch of pillows, a book in his lap and the tv playing some old black and white movie on mute. He smiled at Henry when he opened the door.

"Why, hello there, Henry. What brings you to my abode?"

Henry remembered that word from the vocabulary test Miss Blanchard had given them last week. He remembered because he'd gotten it wrong.

"I'm supposed to be giving my books back, but I wanted to talk to you. If that's okay."

Mr. Gold didn't look so scary whenever he smiled like that. "Well, by all means, come talk to me." He patted the bed. Henry kicked off his shoes, scrambling up to sit beside him. "Dare I ask why you wanted to talk to me?"

"It's nothing bad."

"Good. I was hoping you wouldn't need a lawyer already." Mr. Gold marked his place in the book and switched the tv off, giving Henry his full attention. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

Henry pulled his backpack into his lap, moving all the other books to the side until he could grab the one that had started it all. "I wanna ask you about this."

"I see," Mr. Gold hummed. "What about it?"

Henry felt a little silly, but if Mr. Gold was someone important in the book, then maybe he could help Emma. Emma would need more help later, and even though Mr. Gold had done something bad to make his mom Sheriff, he'd still helped her. Kind of. He'd helped Miss Blanchard though, and Henry knew Regina had been doing something bad to make Miss Blanchard seem guilty. Because she was the Evil Queen, and she didn't like Snow White.

And Mr. Gold hadn't helped the evil side. He'd helped the good side while _pretending_ to help Regina. He was like a double agent, and that was very cool.

"I know who your wife is- or who she was anyways."

Mr. Gold didn't look amused, like a lot of adults did when he tried to talk to them about the curse. He looked interested, and he was watching Henry- still giving him his full attention.

So Henry nodded. "Yeah. She's Belle. Princess Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_, even though the story's not in here, that's who she is."

Mr. Gold looked thoughtful. "What makes you think she's Belle?"

"Well, she's really pretty, and Belle means beautiful."

"Makes sense," Mr. Gold nodded. "Go on."

"And Belle liked to read, and she was brave, and so's your wife. You even call her Belle."

Mr. Gold smiled. "I'm impressed. Does that make me the beast?"

Henry shook his head. "I don't think so."

"No?"

"Uh-uh. See, all the fairytales are different. Like Red Riding Hood being the wolf instead of being chased by it. And you're not a beast, so you can't be the prince under a curse."

"What about a curse?" Belle asked from the doorway. She balanced two plates of cookies on her arm as she made her way to the bed, setting one plate down in front of Henry and the other in Mr. Gold's lap.

"Thanks!" Henry chirped, biting into the still-warm cookie. Peanut butter, his favorite. Yum.

"Henry was just telling me how you're Princess Belle, but I'm not the beast."

Belle paused in the act of picking up a cookie. "What?"

Henry swallowed his bite so he could talk (talking with your mouth full of food was rude). "You're Belle, even though you don't remember. I just don't know who Mr. Gold is, but I'll figure it out."

Belle nodded, considering this as she took a bite of her own cookie. "Why don't you think Richard is the prince?" she asked, brushing crumbs from her mouth.

Henry flipped through the book, careful not to leave any crumbs or smudges on the pages. "David is Prince Charming, and I'm pretty sure Sean is Prince Thomas since he's with Ashley. There aren't many more princes mentioned. And in this book, Belle was already a princess, so I don't think she fell in love with a prince. She was engaged to a knight though." He stopped, thinking about all the stories, all the people who didn't know who they really were. "Disney has really got a lot of stuff wrong."

Mr. Gold laughed, shifting to sit up straighter. "I can promise you, I'm no prince." Belle pinched his shoulder. Mr. Gold caught her hand and kissed it. "Well, I'm not," he told her, patting her hand. Henry grinned. He knew enough about True Love from the book to know it when he saw it. "But that begs the question: who do you think I am?"

"I'm not sure, but I have an idea..."

"Let's hear it."

Henry scanned the pages before him, staring at the picture of Snow White and Rumplestiltskin on the docks.

It made sense in his head, but saying it out loud was kinda weird, especially since the Golds were interested in what he was saying, and they weren't laughing at him.

"Rumplestiltskin," Henry said, believing it with all his heart. "I think you're Rumplestiltskin. He's in almost all of the stories, but he doesn't have one of his own. And he makes deals, kinda like you do."

"I see. So I'm no beast, but a monster?"

Belle brushed his hair off his forehead and kissed it. "You're not a monster, honey."

"Rumplestiltskin's not a monster either," Henry said, reaching for another cookie.

"Oh?" Mr. Gold tucked some of Belle's hair behind her ear, but turned back to Henry. "Why do you say that?"

Henry shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, he did some bad things, but so did the Evil Queen, and she's my mom, and she's not always bad. Besides, real evil doesn't love, and my mom loves me, and you love Belle."

Mr. Gold raised his brows. "Yes," he said quietly. "That's very true." He patted Henry's shoulder, leaving his hand there for a minute. "Henry, I want you to remember something. Regina, your mother, she's not very good at loving people the right way, but you're helping her learn how. I had help," he said, looking back at Belle, "and now Regina needs some too."

Henry blinked.

If Mr. Gold was Rumplestiltskin- and a lot of Henry's doubts were vanishing the longer he thought about it- then that meant that he was the one to teach Regina magic, to give her power. Maybe he even taught her how to be evil. But neither Regina or Rumplestiltskin were really _completely_ bad. They both did bad things, sure, but really, deep down, Henry just thought they were both lonely and sad.

And Rumplestiltskin had a son somewhere. Henry didn't know where because the book didn't say where he'd gone, but he hoped that one day, Rumplestiltskin would be able to see his son again.

"I know," he told Mr. Gold. "I'm trying to show her that good always wins, and that it's better to be good, but it's hard."

Belle smiled softly. "Sometimes," she said, "people do bad things because they don't know how to do anything else. And those people are usually the saddest, because they think they don't need anyone to love them. But if they are loved, truly loved, then maybe they can see the good in themselves, and they turn to the good more and more."

"Is that what you did?" Henry asked, polishing off the last cookie. "To Rumplestiltskin, I mean. He did some bad things, but he loved his son."

Mr. Gold looked really sad. "Yes, he did."

Henry fidgeted. "Maybe... Maybe Rumplestiltskin realized his mistakes too late, and he tried to fix them however he could. I don't think that makes him bad." He leaned over giving Mr. Gold a quick hug (because he was sad for some reason, and even if he wasn't Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, he was the guy who'd saved Henry from being hit by that car, and Henry liked him). "You're not bad either, Mr. Gold."

"Thank you, Henry."

Belle kissed Henry's cheek. "You're a very sweet boy," she told him. "Let me box you up some of these to take home."

"And a very smart lad," Mr. Gold added as Belle made her way to the kitchen. He met Henry's gaze, looking right at him for a full minute. He smiled wide at Henry, his gold tooth flashing, and Henry had seen that grin in the book, a picture of Rumplestiltskin after a deal had gone his way.

Mr. Gold was smiling _just_ like that.

And then Mr. Gold winked.

Henry was pretty sure his grin split his face in two.

* * *

"You told him, didn't you?"

"I didn't say a thing."

Belle shook her head, fighting her smile. "That's not what I asked. You can tell people a lot without saying a word."

Rumplestiltskin grabbed her hand, yanking her down to sprawl on top of him. Belle yelped, lightly smacking his chest once she was sure she wouldn't fall.

She stilled when he ran both hands through her hair, fingers scraping lightly against her scalp, pulling her down for a long, simmering kiss.

"Yes," he agreed, placing a lighter kiss against the corner of her mouth. He made his way down her jaw, to her neck, and then to her ear. "You can," he breathed. "And I, my dear, didn't say..." He brushed his lips against hers, barely a touch, a hair's breath between them, his breath warm against her skin, "...a single word."

"You're horrible," Belle murmured as his hands ran across her shoulders, then down to her waist, inching her shirt up bit by bit, then off competely.

But she kissed him.


	13. Chapter 13

There was something in the water in Storybrooke. There had to be. Otherwise, there was no explaining Sheriff Swan, or Emma, or the Savior or whoever the hell she was, marching into Gold's shop the day he got his walking boot and made himself get back to work. Belle had reluctantly collected rent (and Rumplestiltskin noticed that everyone had paid _her_ without any trouble) and effortlessly managed both the shop and the library while he was useless, and she was wonderful at it, she really was.

But Rumplestiltskin would be lying if he ever said he didn't enjoy his work. The shop with all its odds and ends, the stories behind them that only he knew (both sides, both tales, the histories twisting and twining until they were somehow both and neither at the same time).

And after weeks of staying in the house, in a downstairs bedroom because he couldn't manage the stairs on his crutches, just being inside the shop was a welcome change.

The boot Whale had supplied him with was heavy, awkward and chunky, too large on his leg. It hissed with every step, the velcro straps stretching, rubbing, loud and noisy, the bulky bloody thing, but it was necessary, damn it, so he would use it to get out of the house.

Eventually he'd like to be able to drive again as well, but for the time being Belle had both the keys and the car. Rumplestiltskin would take what he could get. Soon he'd be able to go back to his cane (and he never thought he'd be grateful for that particular crutch) rather than the long metal contraptions he'd been saddled with for the past month. He kept one handy for walking around town (because he was stubborn and he _would_ walk to the library to take Belle to lunch- he did not need the car for that short trip no matter what his wife thought), but the other was tossed aside in the spare room at home.

Rumplestiltskin sighed heavily, leaning slightly on the crutch to reach for the logs on the top shelf. The walking boot was a blessed change from the hard plaster, but his leg was still weak (and now had pins in the ankle) and definitely needed the support. At least it went over his pants. The cast had been impossible to fit under anything short of sweatpants, and being back in his suits felt like slipping back into his true form.

However, the damn boot made his leg sweaty and hot after moving it all day. Then later it would itch, and he would growl, and Belle would laugh and rub away the ache he would pretend he didn't have.

At least they were back in their proper bedroom.

Rumplestiltskin thumbed through the logs, noting the recent payments (and a few advances- that was new) when the door blew open, the bell protesting nosily as Emma wrestled with the wind to force the door shut.

"Jesus," she muttered, leaning against the door.

"Windy, dearie?"

Emma blew out a breath. "I'm about ready to put in a call to Oz. I have a feeling we're gonna meet the Wizard soon."

Rumplestiltskin's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Clever," he praised dryly. "What can I do you for, Sheriff?"

Emma plucked the hat off her head, running her fingers through her tangled locks. "Not on duty yet, Gold," she said. "Just wanted to talk to you."

Rumplestiltskin frowned dramatically. "Well that sounds... troublesome." He eyed her carefully. "Should I don my lawyering suit?"

He was given a very sarcastic look.

"I'm not here to arrest you, or accuse you of anything, so just relax."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Alright," he said lightly, making his way around the counter to stand before Emma. "In that case, fire away, Miss Swan. I'm all ears."

For a moment, she said nothing. Emma just watched him, her eyes flickering over his face, her expression torn between awkwardly unsure and something he couldn't quite place, something he'd never seen on their Sheriff before (because it had never been directed at him, but in passing he'd glimpsed it, but now he saw it head on and didn't know what to make of it).

"How's your leg?" she asked suddenly, voice quiet despite the lack of people around them (he wasn't open, but the closed sign never meant anything to people nowadays, Regina barging in, the door opening at Emma's touch).

Startled, and a bit off-guard if he was completely honest, Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth, weighing responses before deciding Emma deserved the truth. She'd had so little of it in her life, and there were surely more lies to come before all was said and done. Rumplestiltskin put away his clever words and tricky phrases, let simple come out to play.

"Sore," he said, glancing down to study the black boot that clashed with his dark gray suit. "But I'm managing."

"I'm glad."

Rumplestiltskin's eyes snapped up to meet hers. "You are," he realized, startled into letting his surprise show.

Emma rolled her eyes. "You don't have to sound _that_ surprised."

"People in general don't really care whether I do well or not," he said, because it was the truth, had been the truth for as long as he could remember. "You'll have to forgive me, this is a rather new concept."

That wasn't pity in her gaze, it was something soft, a flash usually reserved for her son. And there it was, and she was looking right at him.

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "It's kind of new for me too."

Rumplestiltskin floundered, grasping for something to say, a snarky truth to shatter the calm understanding that seemed to be passing between him and the Savior- Emma, the mother, the Sheriff (...the friend?), but his mind remained quiet, and so did he.

And then Emma stepped forward, a small step, right into his space, close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. She studied him, pressing her lips together as she searched- and she was searching, but he couldn't show her because he didn't know why she was looking, or what she was looking for.

She seemed to find it, a corner of her mouth curving.

"With everything that's happened, I never got around to see you. I know it's a lame excuse but-"

"You were busy clearing our favorite school teacher of a ghastly crime. It's understandable." (Why would she look for him in the first place? He was to be avoided, a last chance when all else was lost, not someone to be sought out.)

Emma squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, the words emphasized as astutely as if she'd shouted them, heartfelt warmth bleeding through, loud and sincere, "for saving Henry."

Speechless, for his words had truly fled, had left him when surely there were words to be said, Rumplestiltskin could only watch as Emma stepped even closer and slowly, carefully, clumsily, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her chin resting against the fabric of his suit.

Mouth open (and words were still absent from him), and as unsure of himself as he'd ever been, Rumplestiltskin flexed his hand.

"_Thank you_," Emma breathed.

Those words felt like a punch, a sharp blow to the mind, and he felt the world snap suddenly around them, stretching and bouncing back.

His hand rested between her shoulder blades, gently, barely touching the leather that separated them.

"I..." he tried, but nothing else would be said.

Emma was smiling when she stepped back, and he couldn't have been any more shocked if she'd slapped him.

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. "Anyone else would have done the same," he finally managed. He tried to make the words light, dismissive, easy (he failed, for they were heavy and important and tasted strange on his tongue).

"But it was you."

That mattered, for some reason, and he didn't have the faintest clue as to why.

Rumplestiltskin was lost.

He did not like that feeling.

"It's... no matter." (And again the words couldn't be found, still elusive, laughing shadows in his mind.)

Emma laughed, a short, humorless huff. "No, it's a really big matter, actually. But the fact that you said that, the fact that you believe that... it makes it even more amazing." She blinked hard, nodding once as she bit her lip. "You saved my son's life," she said, as if he'd forgotten, and if her voice cracked at the end he pretended not to notice (couldn't notice because he was frozen and surely hearing this wrong). "And I- I will _never_ forget that."

The bell jingled again, and he was sure it had to all be a dream because there was Belle, a vision of light against the darkness (but it was not dark, there was so much light now- how had he missed that?), smiling her smile at him.

"Emma, hello," she greeted.

Emma turned. "Hey," she said as she passed, reaching out to touch the other woman's shoulder. "Take care of him," she ordered.

Belle's smiled faded, uncertain. "Of... of course."

She turned to her husband as Emma departed, confused. "What...?"

Rumplestiltskin could only shake his head. "I haven't the faintest," he whispered.

Surely the Sheriff had been hit over the head with something heavy recently. That had to be it.

Belle leaned up to kiss him, her lips landing on the corner of his. "Alright, well, ready for lunch then? I'm starving."

* * *

The walk to Granny's took ten minutes instead of five, his leg throbbing more than he would admit, but Belle had looped her arm around his free one and let him think he'd set the pace as they made their way down the sidewalk.

Rumplestiltskin twined his fingers around hers, squeezing once.

"Windy today," Belle observed, clutching her coat closed. It wasn't cold, but the wind was cutting enough that light jackets and hats were grabbed, layers worn in hopes of being spared from the whistling terror that stole hats and let papers flutter and twist out of hands and away.

"Mm," he agreed. He wished he'd buttoned his own jacket, but they were almost there now, and he didn't want to release Belle quite yet.

Sometimes Rumplestiltskin felt like a young boy, foolish and possessive when he went anywhere with Belle. Which was ridiculous. They were married. They wore rings, shared a last name, a past, a life. Eventually they would even have a future, once time and Emma cooperated (it was something to fight for, to work towards, and he wouldn't want anyone else at his side while he waited to find Bae, because she knew and understood, realized more than even he would know, and he loved her for it).

But he clutched her hand anyways, because he wanted to, and because he could.

Belle stretched to peck his cheek when she opened the door, and he couldn't stop his smile.

Ruby waved them in, pointing with her elbow to a table she'd just cleared. "This one's open," she said, arranging the trays as she turned. "I'll be right back."

Rumplestiltskin blinked, told himself he'd imagined David raising his cup in a brief salute before he'd made his way out the door.

"What can I get you guys?" Ruby chirped, appearing with a notepad and a pen.

A reality check, he wanted to say, but settled for the club sandwich.

The diner was quiet around them, people filtering in and out as they ate. They talked quietly, exchanging smiles and winks. Belle stole a few fries off his plate, dunking the potatoes heavily in the ketchup before popping them into her mouth (he swiped the tomatoes from her salad in retaliation, smirking at her protest).

August Booth slid in, then out just as quickly, picking up a coffee and a to go bag (and Rumplestiltskin briefly wondered who he was, where he could be going, this man who could leave and come back), pausing to give them a brief nod, an odd smile that made Rumplestiltskin raise a brow.

"Ready?" Belle asked, wiping her fingers on a napkin.

"Back into the fray." He signaled Ruby. "Our check."

Ruby waved the request away in a careless manner. "Oh, you're good," she said. "But just for today- don't get used to freebies." She winked at an astonished Belle, already turning to another table. "See ya."

Rumplestiltskin exchanged bewildered looks with Belle, turning to catch Widow Lucas's eye (because she would have something to say about that... surely she would).

She raised her chin, eyes sharp behind her glasses. She inclined her head, a gentle tilt to the left, nothing more, and turned back to the kitchen, gathering the plates waiting under the warmer, effectively dismissing the questions Rumplestiltskin was sure were swimming in his eyes.

He was certain now; something had definitely gotten in the water.

"I have no idea what happened to everyone today," he announced later at home, unstrapping his leg from the confining contraption he had to use for at least another week. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Belle's laughter floated from the adjoining bathroom. "They were saying thank you, I think." The light clicked off and she joined him in bed, snuggling up to him. "It's sweet."

"It's odd. What on earth are they thanking me for anyways- staying away from them for a month?"

Belle sat up suddenly to study him, her face whipcracking between shock and amusement, and then she was laughing at him, falling back onto the mattress to clutch her stomach.

And then she was kissing him, softly, intently.

"You're smart," she whispered in the dark. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." He felt her smile against his lips, another feather light kiss, a mere brush of lips before she rolled onto her side. "Good night, Rumple."

Utterly befuddled, Rumplestiltskin kissed her shoulder. "Good night..."

He made a mental note to check the water supply for any foreign contaminates first thing in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** If the next chapter cooperates, it'll be the last one! Now I just have to write it...

* * *

Rumplestiltskin had never really given thought to what it actually meant to give up his magic. He had a basic grasp on the idea, knew the major points that would affect him. He wouldn't look like a lizard anymore, his teeth and nails no longer stained. He wouldn't have the power to spin straw into gold, but he had more than enough money to make sure he and Belle were comfortable for the rest of their lives. He wouldn't be able to turn people into snails anymore either, and he'd regretted that at first, but it had been a while since he'd had that particular impulse (he hadn't wanted to do that to Moe- he'd wanted to beat him with his cane instead).

Standing before the sink, drying his face after his morning shave, Rumplestiltskin stilled suddenly, leaning in to study himself in the mirror, and realized just what else came with giving up all powerful magic.

Giving up his magic meant giving up his curse, something he was more than happy to be rid of, but it also meant relinquishing his immortality. It meant aging. Aging meant more gray hairs, more wrinkles, aches and pains were there previously weren't any. He swept his hair away from his temple, eyeing the growing patch of gray that had grown since Emma had arrived. It looked like it had grown since yesterday. His sideburns were nearly completely gray.

He was getting old.

To be fair, he was already old. In both worlds he was considered up there in age. Forty-two in Storybrooke- no, he realized with a start. Forty-three. It was his birthday.

Rumplestiltskin was three hundred and eighty, if he remembered correctly (his name day had not been something worth noting, and there'd been no one later in life to remind him or celebrate, so he'd never been sure of his exact age). Richard Gold was forty-three.

And Belle was twenty-nine.

Or nineteen, which was much worse.

Either way, she was young. So very, very young. He was an old man in either world, and with time moving forward, with Emma doing what she was supposed to do, he was more than starting to look it. The wrinkles around his eyes- crows feet they were called, little indents that used to appear when his eyes crinkled and were now there all the time- had deepened seemingly overnight. His brown eyes might have been nice at one point, his one redeeming quality, but now they were on their way to becoming hooded, the skin around them sagging, effectively making him look perpetually tired.

Rumplestiltskin had an awful lot of gray on his head, and that made him look old.

Brown hair. He'd used to have brown hair. Mousey brown, ugly brown, not the rich chocolate color his wife had been fortunate enough to receive. The kind of brown that always looked dirty no matter how many times he cleaned it, light colored and weightless, prone to flying away with the wind. It was even lighter now, the gray strands creeping steadily forward, and it was starting to thin in some places.

He'd take the mousey brown over a head of gray, but time wasn't giving him a choice in the matter. He'd never had a choice in the matter, saddled early on with less than desirable looks that hadn't- that never had- improved. He'd never been the least bit attractive, and now he looked old on top of it.

The world was full of strange new things, modern medicines and cosmetics, most of which he was accustomed to by now, and Rumplestiltskin stood in his bathroom and debated about buying hair dye Ruby seemed so fond of.

He had no one to impress, but looking old all the time didn't appeal to him. Looking like he did didn't appeal to him, but there wasn't much he could do to fix that. Belle insisted she loved him, and she'd loved him as that monster, all scales and sharp teeth, so surely a few extra grays wouldn't matter to her, but Rumplestiltskin was suddenly violently aware of how they must look to people.

To anyone.

To everyone.

It had never bothered him before (when you had magic it didn't matter how you looked but there was no magic anymore and looks most certainly did matter) but he'd never really considered it before. He liked to think that he didn't care what people thought of him, and to an extent it was true. It only mattered what Belle thought.

What_ did_ Belle think?

What did the people think of her?

That she'd settled for him, that much had been made painfully clear to him over the years. Storybrooke had tripped over itself to spew rumors and lies about their relationship. He'd blackmailed her. He'd bribed her. He'd forced her. Surely it was _something_ like that because look at them, he's much too old, much too horrid to really, truly love her.

Maybe she'd accepted the money. Maybe she'd just agreed because he'd shown an interest, she'd always been an odd little thing. He did give her that library after all. Having a rich husband has its perks. What kind of woman could marry a man like that? What kind of woman would want to be stuck with Richard Gold for the rest of her life?

They'd never considered, not for a single moment (he never dreamed, had never imagined it possible) that Belle could have actually fallen for him. That he'd fallen for her was not unbelievable- she was Belle and half the town was in love with her before he'd come into the picture, and now they simply watched them carefully, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve a woman like Isabelle French.

And now, watching himself prepare for the day, Rumplestiltskin was painfully reminded of one nasty side affect that would come with his progressing age.

He would die.

That in itself wasn't an entirely pleasant thought, but it a simple fact of life he'd prepared himself for, had braced himself for, even waited for (and sometimes, when he was low and sad, had even craved and begged for) for years. Living forever was not a goal he wanted. It was a very lonely and sad life, watching others around him wither and die as the world changed and he remained the same.

Belle would watch him age.

She would watch him fade away, watch him get older than he was now, watch him slip away from the world. And she would remain for years after he'd gone. Belle was healthy and young, not even thirty in this world (a taunt he hadn't expected, so young to be with someone so much older), and would easily outlive the already-gray-and-wrinkled monster she called a husband.

Without magic, Rumplestiltskin would leave Belle long before he was ready to.

He would never be ready and with magic he would never have to let go.

But Belle didn't want to live forever, and he would never curse her with that. She simply wanted to _live_, to spend her days in happiness, surrounded by the numerous people she loved.

One day, maybe even one day soon, that number would start to fall, and he would be the first to go.

His ankle twinged as he stepped back, a physical reminder of just how old and frail he was. Surgery and medicine and physical therapy had helped, but the limp, though not as bad as it used to be, was permanent. Rumplestiltskin eyed the fresh pink scar with distaste, flexing his toes experimentally. He could walk without his cane, but slowly, carefully, and not for very far.

That damn cane.

Gray hairs, wrinkles, canes. He could practically _feel_ himself aging, feel time chipping away at his body, dragging him down a path he could not turn away from.

He'd accepted the inevitability of his death, but did he really have to look his age? Couldn't he, for once, just once, be the handsome prince Belle deserved? The answer was, at it had always been and always would be, no. How could he possibly be considered handsome? His nose was long and pointed, crooked to boot. He was small. He was gray. He'd never been particularly strong, never been one to lift weights or strengthen himself. His arms were like toothpicks, his hands awkwardly large on the thin twigs.

Rumplestiltskin's hands used to be something powerful, something that could hold magic and contracts and inspire fear. Now they were simply hands, large and wrinkled. Blemished in every way possible with scars and lines. The only perfect thing on them was his wedding ring, a symbol of Belle to carry with him always.

His beautiful wife, tied forever to an old, ugly man.

For years, Rumplestiltskin had wanted time to move steadily, going forward as it was meant to rather than the jumping, stumbling, repeated progress the curse gave them. Now, time mocked him, the clock cheerfully announcing the passing minutes. The day had arrived, marking yet another year of his life, another year gone that he would never get back as he got closer to the inevitable. To the favorable fortune of leaving this world and all its tricks and broken promises and cries for help. He had no desire to stay longer than he needed to, and certainly no one would want him around.

He would ignore today, let it pass like any other, as he always had. There had never been any celebrations for him, none he could remember or would have been worth throwing. There would be no point in making a fuss over a day no one had wanted to happen, so he wouldn't. He was good at ignoring things he didn't like. Like Regina or Moe. He ignored them all the time.

Pale, perfect hands appeared around his chest, a warm body pressed against his back as a voice whispered in his ear. "Happy birthday."

Rumplestiltskin shook away his morbid thoughts (but they crawled back into his mind because they never left) and chuckled, running his hand (rough and ugly and wrinkled, the digits beginning to swell at the knuckles) over hers (smooth and soft and free from any sort of imperfection just like the rest of her).

"Unfortunately the day has arrived," he said dryly. "I'd rather hoped to never see another one of these. It's not something anyone likes to remember."

Belle squeezed him tightly. "Don't say that." He felt her nuzzle his shoulder, her hair swishing over his shirt. "Please don't say that."

"Sweetheart, aside from you, there's not a single person on this earth that would celebrate the day I was born." The day he died, now that would be a different story. That would be a day to go down in history, a day to remember. _That_ would be worth celebrating.

Her hand tightened painfully around his. "You're wrong," she whispered.

"Am I?" It was a simple fact, a truth he'd accepted long ago, and it was okay. Belle loved him. That alone was more than he could have hoped for, and so it was almost enough (because Bae was still lost and maybe he would prefer to stay that way, would like it if his father who'd failed and lied and let go and was a monster and a coward never found him at all). "I'm not a loved man, Belle. I'm not even a liked one. No one cares that I was born. They will only care when I die. No one loves me. It's a fact that I'm used to by now."

Belle inhaled sharply. "You can't mean that."

"It's a fact, one that I've been fed since I was born. Three hundred years hasn't changed anyone's mind."

Her hand went slack around his. "You really think," she whispered, her voice small, "that no one, not a single person, loves you?"

"I _know_ that no one-"

Something cold washed over him, the icy chill of shame reaching out to grab him again. He grasped Belle's hand, turning to gather her into his arms. "No. No, oh, sweetheart. I know- don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_, please don't cry."

"Why do you say things like that?" she asked. She clutched his shirt in her fists, hitting him lightly. "You know that's not true, you _know_ that."

"You love me. I know you love me. I know that, Belle. Sweetheart, I know. I'm sorry."

"How many more times can I tell you?" Her voice had become shrill and loud, her tears soaking his shirt. "What else could I possibly do to prove to you-"

Desperate, ashamed (a fool, a complete and utter fool like always, he would never be anything else), Rumplestiltskin kissed her. For all his words, all his prowess, all the deals and prices and fine points he'd ever had, every bottom line, every trick or scheme, it was Belle, always Belle, that reduced him to an absolute buffoon. A complete and total idiot. He always said the wrong thing, always did the wrong thing, always made her cry, could never make her stop.

How could she love a man like that?

But she did.

However improbable, however impossible, it was true.

"_Nothing_," he hissed. "There is nothing you can- you don't have to do a thing. I know, sweetheart, I _know_, and I'm sorry." He peppered her face with kisses, erasing her tears. "I love you, too. So much, my Belle. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Loving Belle was easy. Believing in that love, letting her see every piece of him so she could love him back, _that_ was hard. Tale as old as time it may be, but it wouldn't be a story worth noting if everything had been easy. Every dancer stumbled, every child cried, and every heart could be broken, even by true love.

"I'm not..." Rumplestiltskin sighed, holding her close. "I'm not fond of my birthday. To me it's not something worth being happy about. It never was. It just means I'm getting older, and now more ugly right along side it."

"We celebrate my birthday," Belle pointed out quietly, digging her chin into his chest to look at him with a watery gaze.

He smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You're more important than I am."

Belle gaped at him. "What? I am not!" She beat her fist against his chest. "And you are not ugly- how could you think such a thing?"

Dipping his head, Rumplestiltskin stole a quick kiss. "You can argue with me until you're blue in the face," he said, kissing her again, "but you won't sway me on either of those points."

"But-" He kissed her again, backing her against the wall so she couldn't retreat. "You're _Rumplestiltskin_," she said breathlessly.

"Exactly," he said against her temple. "No magic, no curse, no power. Just me, dearie, and that's not much." He saw the flame light up in her eyes and kissed her hard before she could start to argue. "But that's all right," he assured her.

As long as he had her, as long as Belle loved him, it didn't matter who he was. He could be Richard Gold or Rumplestiltskin or the Dark One, or whatever other designation was given to him, if Belle loved him, it was all the validation he needed.

"You truly think that." Belle shook her head sadly, reached to frame his face in her hands. "Rumple, you're a very smart man, but you really are a blind idiot."

"Be that as it may, I'm also right. And now I'm late for work." He kissed her one last time, wishing the world would disappear, wishing time would stop and he could stay with her forever. "I love you. I'll see you tonight."

Belle grabbed him before he could escape to gather his shoes. She dragged him back, pulled him against her, arms tight, iron around him, and _plundered_ his mouth. Powerless to resist her, helpless against her, his hands fisted in her hair, tilting her head back to control the kiss before he lost himself in her.

Chest heaving, she broke away. "You're Rumplestiltskin," she said again. "And the first thing you did when you got your power was save all the children who'd been sent to die in a war. You ensured Snow White and Prince Charming would find each other. You've stopped countless wars. You love your son. You held me captive and let me go. You let a thief go because he was a father. You let Ashley keep her daughter. You saved Henry's life without even thinking." She stretched to kiss him again, eyes open to gaze into his. "You, my husband, are a handsome man, beautiful inside and out and I love you. Promise me you'll remember that."

His eyes wanted to fill, but he blinked the tears away as his heart swelled. "Oh, sweetheart." He caressed her cheek, his aged hand against her porcelain skin. "I promise."

Belle smiled. "Good," she sighed, relieved. She kissed him again, draping herself against him. "How could think such things?" she murmured against his lips. "You've always been handsome, even when you glittered."

He growled against her neck, mouth busy at her collar bone. "I did not _glitter_." He muttered, hands filling themselves with her breasts.

"You-" she gasped, hauling him back against the sink to hold him in place, wanting kissing him fiercely even as she made her mouth form the words. "You kind of did. And those leather pants, those were brilliant."

Rumplestiltskin snorted out a laugh, raising his head to kiss his wonderful, beautiful, fantastic wife on the mouth. "I love you," he said. "Even when you make me late."

"It's your birthday," Belle reminded him, leading him back into the bedroom with a smile. "You should take the day off for the occasion." At some point she'd undone his tie, leaving it hanging on either side of his collar and now she pulled it off, tossing the silk to the floor.

He really did need to go to the shop. "I-" _am completely powerless against you_. "Belle," he breathed, kissing her hard. He advanced, knees hitting hers as she edged backwards, stopping only when the mattress dug into her thighs.

"I thought- I thought you were leaving," she giggled breathlessly, unbuttoning and removing his shirt while he pulled hers over her head.

Rumplestiltskin scooped her up, dropping her onto the bed. "It's my birthday," he said, kissing her shoulder, her mouth. Her neck. Her breasts. His lips trailed down her stomach, tugging at the fabric of her pants. "I can be as late as I want."

As it so happened this time, he was very, very late. So late that everything else was close by the time they reached the shop, stealing kisses in the dark like teenagers, hands linked or all over each other. Rumplestiltskin held Belle against the counter and kissed her once, turning to evade her hands as he tried to finish his books.

"Minx," he muttered as she swiped his pen. Belle stuck her tongue out at him, dancing away when he tried to get it back.

"How are you going to finish your logs without your pen, Mr. Gold?" she teased. Rumplestiltskin grinned, reaching for her.

The door opened, the bell cheerfully announcing an unwelcome guest.

Rumplestiltskin sighed and made his way out of the back room, fully prepared to tell whoever it was in no uncertain terms to get out of his shop and not come back, but he stopped dead when he saw Emma and Regina side by side, identical looks of fear and determination on their faces.

"Do my eyes deceive me," he wondered aloud, "or is that the face of a believer?"


	15. Chapter 15

Time had repeated in Storybrooke for twenty eight years. The years had passed as best they could, stumbling, fumbling, jumping by, and Rumplestiltskin had not minded the wait because Belle had been with him. He'd do it all again if it meant his son and his wife would be by his side- if even just for a moment- at the end. It flowed with Emma in town, progressing as it should. Cause and effect. Ticking clocks.

They were all affected by time now. Babies born, children and people aging. Love found and lost.

Emma and Regina faced Rumplestiltskin in his shop, and time positively raced around them.

"Something's happened to Henry," he guessed. "Something magical, or you wouldn't be here."

Regina shifted, guilt, fear, anger, and desperation rolling in her eyes. She swallowed before she could speak, mouth snapping shut when Belle emerged from the back room. She locked onto Rumplestiltskin with a wavering gaze.

"Yes," she said shortly.

He felt Belle's hand on his shoulder and used it to steady himself. His idiot apprentice had done something to her own son. To Henry. Her curse probably, the curse that birthed the legend. They would have to hurry.

If Henry was to wake, if the curse (both curses, there were two now, neither one more important than the other, both monumental) was to be broken, they would have to act fast. Emma would have to do exactly what she was meant to. The time for gentle pushing was over. It was time to shove.

From the look of her, Emma was ready to jump.

"What's happened?" Belle asked, fingers tightening on his jacket.

"Henry's..." Emma paused, hands slamming onto the counter, fingerprints smudging across the glass. "Hurt. He's hurt. What can you do?" she demanded.

Rumplestiltskin spoke to Regina. "I warned you. All magic comes with a price." It was not a rule to take lightly or ignore. It was not a rule he made, but it was certainly one he followed. Magic was a powerful, living, painful, pulsating thing. It was not to be controlled or contained. It was to be guided, studied, and gently woven to the user's will.

Magic always, always had a price.

And Rumplestiltskin was done paying it.

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," Regina cried.

"No, you should, but alas, we are where we are." She should pay. She should pay for everything she'd ever taken from him- from Belle. Stolen years, a false death, the heartbreak and loss she'd given in return, even in Storybrooke.

Belle pressed against his side. "Rumple," she breathed.

A single word, a name spoken to calm him, pull him back from the edge he hadn't known he was staring down. He laced his fingers with hers, gave them one hard squeeze. He was all right. She was all right. They would be all right.

It was time.

"Fantastic, your little wife is aware of the situation. Now save my son."

If it had been Regina, only Regina, he would have refused. But it was Henry hanging in the balance, and Rumplestiltskin would do it for him, if no one else.

"My _little wife_," Rumplestiltskin sneered at the queen, "also remembers your efforts to keep us apart in both lands. Remind me to repay you for that, among other things."

"Rumplestiltskin, enough."

Belle had always been stronger than him, and she stood beside him now, facing down the woman who'd held her captive and held her captive again. Her hand was perfectly still in his, her shoulders squared, back straight. She met Regina's stare, and held it, blue eyes kind against brown.

A princess stood before a queen with her head held high. Regina had cost Belle a child, and now Belle reached out to help save Regina's son. When she spoke, she spoke to him, her voice steady and soft, calm in the raging storm, the center that grounded them all.

"What do they need?"

Emma's nails scraped across the glass, fingers curling into her palms to form tight fists. "How do we save him?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled. "You'll have to ask Belle," he informed them airily. "She's the one with a dragon in her library."

* * *

They sent Emma down the elevator with a sword.

Belle was not entirely certain that was a good idea, and she certainly wasn't in favor of someone, of anyone, getting killed, but Rumplestiltskin had smiled at her softly. Dragons were hard to kill, and perhaps Emma would prove to be even harder, and it would all work out in the end. It had to.

For Henry's sake.

If he woke, but found himself missing a mother...

"How long have you remembered?"

Regina's voice echoed in the empty library, her question forced out, husky and unsure. Belle glanced at her husband, standing between her and Regina, but he was looking at her as well. Belatedly, Belle realized Regina was talking to her.

"Since you put me in the hospital."

Rumplestiltskin's hand was warm against her arm, heat pushing through her suddenly chilled skin.

The floor rumbled beneath their feet, Rumplestiltskin's grip on her tightening when she staggered. They stumbled into the circulation desk, clinging to each other, unsteady with high heels and a cane while a dragon roared and fought and spewed flames under them. Belle hissed when her hip met unforgiving wood, stepping forward into her husband's arms to steady herself as much as him.

Distantly, she heard books hit the ground, plunging from their shelves to lay on the carpet. She'd have to reshelf everything later.

Regina kept one hand on the wall, waiting by the elevator controls to pull Emma up at a moment's notice. "Ten years?" she asked in disbelief. "That's not possible."

"You made the same mistake twice," Rumplestiltskin murmured against Belle's hair, his words aimed to shoot across the room. "You underestimated her."

"I'm not the one who pushed her away," Regina purred smugly.

"No," Belle agreed softly. "But you are the one who did everything in your power to keep me away." She tried to keep the anger from her voice, but after nearly thirty years of darkness and chains and towers and curses it still boiled, simmering under her skin. "I tried to tell you. You couldn't keep us apart, not forever."

"What good has True Love ever brought to anyone?" Regina demanded, voice shrill. "Love is a _disease_. Your precious _husband_ taught me that."

"No," Rumplestiltskin snarled, turning to face the lonely woman before him. "I taught you that love is weakness. The rest of the lesson was mine to learn." It had been Belle's to teach. "If you believe in it, love is strength."

"How sentimental."

"You condemn love so easily as you stand shaking in fear for your son," said Belle. "Love means being afraid sometimes, and fear is not weakness. It's just fear."

"He's my son- _my_ son. Something you will _never_ understand."

The rage nearly choked her, spewing the words from her lips as the anger curled in her gut, clenching icy cold around her heart. "But I would have," she bit out, tasting the hot tears as they rolled down her cheeks.

Shock melted into Regina's features, lips parting in an unspoken question. She licked her lips, shoulder rolling. She took a single step back.

"What... what did you say?"

Belle wanted to sob, wanted to hide in Rumplestiltskin's chest and wait for it to all be over, but she held Regina's gaze instead. "I would have," she said weakly, "had you just left us alone."

"Belle..."

The heartbreak in Rumplestiltskin's voice, the tangible pain rolling off him finally broke her, and Belle sobbed into her hand, sinking into her husband's arms.

"I know the pain of losing a child." She blinked, forcing the tears out and away to let her look Regina in the eye. "It is not something I wish on anyone."

She wished with every piece of her heart that she could forgive Regina. She wished she could let the anger go, free it and never feel it again, but she couldn't. It hurt, holding onto the anger and blame, but it would not release her, would not let her be. All the years of nightmares and pain, all the suffering her heart endured, Belle wanted to just let it go.

But she couldn't.

And standing before Regina, even with Rumplestiltskin at her back, she was _afraid_ of this woman. This woman who'd used clever words and a silver tongue to play with feelings, locking her away when it didn't work. Who'd snatched her away again when love rallied, who'd cost Rumplestiltskin a child.

One day she would be brave again. One day she would be strong. One day she would be able to forgive and let go.

But that day was not today. Today she was only human, and so on today she could not.

So she would help Regina because it helped Henry, and then she would try- oh how she would _try_- to let it all go. Because it was right, and the pain and the fear hurt so much. And Regina needed forgiveness and love just as much as Rumplestiltskin did. Even if Belle could not forgive her, she could help Henry, who loved both his mothers, and maybe it would help them all learn to let go.

"Henry will be all right," she assured the terrified mother. "He will be all right."

It was all she could do, all she could give. But she gave it easily, readily, and willingly.

"I promise."

* * *

And then, time stopped.

It was a brief pause, a moment of horror and terror when phones buzzed, the hospital calling. Regina and Emma- the Evil Queen and the Savior, two mothers to the same child- ran to see their son. Regina tucked the glass vial into her palm, her grip tight around it as though she was afraid Rumplestiltskin would take it back from her (a vial of the most powerful magic in all of creation and he'd carelessly tossed it to them like he didn't care at all).

Rumplestiltskin watched them go.

"He _will_ be all right," he said. Time held its breath, fast and slow all at once. "I promise you that, sweetheart. Henry will be fine."

It was almost over.

The curse was almost broken.

And Bae, his son, his beautiful son, was almost within reach.

Time took a breath, the sun peeking over the horizon.

And with a burst of magic that knocked more books from their shelves, a taste and feel he would know in his sleep, even after all these years, their world awoke.

Rumplestiltskin tasted the tears before he felt them, but Belle kissed them away, gave him her smile.

"Bae..." he said against her skin. "My son. Belle, my _son_."

Hope. Something he hadn't felt, hadn't allowed himself to feel, surged through him. It overpowered him, swamping him, shaking his very foundation. He was holding Belle too tight, but he couldn't let go because it was nearly perfect for a single second. His wife, his True Love in his arms, holding him, _loving him back_. And now they could go.

He could go.

Rumplestiltskin could find his son.

They made to step out into their world, old faces with new names, but as the door opened the sun was blocked, and their old world truly returned with rolling purple smoke, the taste of iron and woodsmoke on his tongue.

Rumplestiltskin stumbled as the magic coiled around him.

"Belle-"

He did not want this.

He did not _need_ this.

Magic and prices and deals and fear and it was nothing he wanted anymore. Rumplestiltskin just wanted his family, his son and his wife. There was magic enough in that. He didn't need anymore. But the magic settled in him, caressing him like an old lover.

He turned and kissed Belle hard, hoping beyond hope. If there was magic, then there was True Love's Kiss, and then it would go, he could be done with it once and for all.

But the magic stayed.

And so did Belle.

Rumplestiltskin clutched Belle close, nose buried in her hair. "It's not my price to pay," he gasped. "I don't want this. _I don't want it_."

"Rumple, shh, you're okay. You're okay. I love you, you're okay."

"Regina," he realized. "She must have- the potion. She brought magic here." He ran his thumb over Belle's cheek, waiting, for surely she would vanish soon. He had magic, and he had Belle, but he could not have both.

_Take it back_, he wanted to scream. _I don't want it. Take it back. I want her. I want them. Not this. Take it __**back**__._

Belle gathered him in her arms, pressing soft kisses against his face. "Rumplestiltskin, I love you. Magic or no magic, I love you. I'm here. I'm with you for better or worse." She pulled back enough to kiss him properly, ignoring the stares of their world, the people who knew the Dark One and the fear that he brought. "And we are going to find your son, no matter what it takes."

Above them, the clock tower chimed.

And time marched forward. As it was supposed to.

* * *

**A/N:** Done! The Roles We Play is finished! Now I try to catch up on Love and Superheroes and then get to work on the wrap up for this universe. Thank you so much for reading, and double thank you for reviewing!


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